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itt 





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| AUG 24 184 


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L161—O-1096 | 





* eee ha 


"LENA RIVERS. 


CHAPTER I. 
"LENA. 


For many days the storm continued. Highways were 
blocked up, while roads less frequented were rendered wholly 
impassable. ‘The oldest inhabitants of Oakland had ‘never 
seen the like before,’? and they shook their grey heads omi- 
nously as over and adown the New England mountains the howl- 
ing winds swept furiously, now shrieking exultingly as cne by 
one the huge forest trees bent before its power, and again dying 
away in a low, sad wail, as it shook the casement of some low- 
roofed cottage, where the blazing fire, “high piled upos che 
hearth,”? danced merrily to the sound of the storm-wind, ana 
then, whirling in fantastic circles, disappeared up the broad- 
mouthed chimney. 

For nearly a week there was scarcely a sign of life in the 
streets of Uakland, but at the end of that time the storm 
abated, and the December sun, emerging from its dark hiding- 
place, once more looked smilingly down upon the white, un- 
troddén snow, which covered the earth for miles and miles 
around. Rapidly the roads were broken ; paths were made on 
the narrow sidewalk, and then the villagers bethought them- 
selves of their mountain neighbors, who might perchance have 
suffered from the severity of the storm. Far up the mountain 
side in an old yellow farmhouse, which had withstood the blasts 
of many a winter, lived Grandfather and Grandmother Nichols, 
as they were familiarly called, and ere the sun-setting, arrange- 
ments were made for paying them a visit. 

Oakland was 2 small rural village, nestled among rocky hills, 
where the word fashion was seldom heard, and where many of 
‘he primitive customs of our forefathers still prevailed. Conse- 
quently, neither the buxom maidens, nor the hale old matrons, © 
felt in the least disgraced as they piled promiscuously upon ‘the ae 


Shae (8) 


ky 
@ LENA RIVERS. 


four-ox sled, which ere long was moving slowly through the 
mammoth drifts which lay upon the mountain road. As they 
drew near the farmhouse, they noticed that the blue paper cur- 
tains which shaded the windows of Grandma Nichols’ « spare 
room,’’ were rolled up, while the faint glimmer of a tallow 
candle within, indicated that the room possessed an occupant. 
Who could it be? Possibly it was John, the proud man, who 
uiyed in Kentucky, and who, to please his wealthy bride exe 
changed the plebeian name of Nichols, for that of Livingstone, 
which his high-born lady fancied was more aristocratic in its 
sounding ! 

‘And if it be John,” said the passengers of the ox sled, 
with whom that gentleman was no great favorite, ‘‘if it be 
John, we’ll take ourselves home as fast as ever we can.” 

Satisfied with this resolution, they kept on their way until 
they reached the wide gateway, where they were met by Mr. 
Nichols, whose greeting they fancied was less cordial than usual. 
With a simple ‘ how d’ye do,’’. he led the way into the spacious 
kitchen, which answered the treble purpose of dining-room, sit- 
ting-room, and cook-room. Grandma Nichols, too, appeared 
somewhat disturbed, but she met her visitors with an air which 
seemed to say, she was determined to make the best of her 
trouble, whatever it might be. 

The door of the ‘‘spare room’’ was slightly ajar, and while 
the visitors were disrobing, one young girl, more curious than 
the rest, peered cautiously in, exclaiming as she did so, 
‘* Mother! mother ! Helenais in there on the bed, pale as a 
ghost.’’ 

** Yes, Heleny is in there,’’ interrupted Grandma Nichols, 
who overheard the girl’s remark. ‘‘ She got hum the fust night 
of the storm, and what’s queerer than all, she’s been married 
better than a year.” | 

‘‘Married! Married! Helenamarried! Whoto? Where’s 
aer husband ?’’ asked a dozen voices in the same breath. 

Grandfather Nichols groaned as if in pain, and his wife, 
glancing anxiously toward the door of her daughter’s room, ~ 
said in reply to the last question, ‘‘ That’s the worst on’t. He 
was some grand rascal, who lived at the suthard, and come up 
here to see what he could do. He thought Heleny was hand- 
some, I s’pose, and married her, making her keep it still because 
his folks in Car’lina wouldn’t like it. Of course he got sick of 
her, and jest afore the baby was born he gin a five hundred 
its and left her.’’ 





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“ a. *y 
a a 


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i 


LENA RIVERS. & 


A murmur of surprise ran round the room, accompanied 
with a look of incredulity, which Grandma Nichols quickly 
divined, and while her withered cheek crimsoned at the implied 
disgrace, she added in an elevated tone of voice, ‘It’s true as 
the Bible. Old Father Blanchard’s son, that used to preach 
here, married them, and Heleny brought us a letter from him, 
saying it was true. Here ’tis,—read it yourselves, if you don’t 


~ p’lieve me; ’”’ and she drew from a side drawer a letter, on the 


back of which, the villagers recognized the well-remembered 
handwriting of their former pastor. 

This proof of Helena’s innocence was hardly relished by the 
clever gossips of Oakland, for the young girl, though kind- 
hearted and gentle, was far too beautiful to be a general favor- 
ite. “Mothers saw in her a rival for their daughters, while the 
daughters looked enviously upon her clear white brow, and 
shining chestnut hair, which fell in wavy curls about her neck 
and shoulders. ‘Two years before our story opens, she had left 
her mountain home to try the mysteries of millinery in the city, 
where a distant relative of her mother was living. Here her 
uncommon beauty attracted much attention, drawing ere long 
to her’side 4 wealthy young southerner, who, just freed from 
the restraints of college life, found it vastly agreeable making 
love to the fair Helena. Simple-minded, and whoily unused te 
the ways of the world, she believed each word he said, and 
when at last he proposed marriage, she not only consented, but 
also promised to keep it a secret for a time, until he could in a 
measure reconcile his father, who he feared might disinherit 
him for wedding a penniless bride. 7 

‘¢ Wait, darling, until he knows you,” said he, **and then 
he will gladly welcome you as his daughter.” 

Accordingly, one dark, wintry night, when neither moon not 
stars were visible, Helena stole softly from her quiet room at 
Mrs. Warren’s, and in less than an hour was the lawful bride 
of \Harry Rivers, the wife of the clergyman alone witnessing 
the ceremony. ~~” : 

‘‘T wish I could take you home at once,’’ said young Rivers, 
who was less a-rascal than a coward ; ‘‘I wish I could take you 
home at once, but it cannot be. We must wait awhile.’ 

So Helena went back to Mrs. Warren’s, where for a few 
weeks she stayed, and then saying she was going home, she left 
and became the mistress of a neat little cottage which stood a 
mile or two from the city. Here for several months young 
Rivers @evoted himself entirely te her happiness, seeming to 


939974 


6 LENA BIVERS., 


forget that there was aught else in the world save his ** beautt. 
ful ’Lena,’’ as he was wont to call her. But at last there came 
a change. Harry seemed sad, and absent-minded, though evet 
kind to Helena, who strove in vain to learn the cause of his un- 
easiness. | 

One morning when, later than usual, she awoke, she missed 
him from her side; and on the table near her lay a letter con- 
taining the following :— 


‘Forgive me, darling, that I leave you so abruptly. Cir- 
cumstances render it necessary, but be assured, I shall come 
back again. In the meantime, you had better return to your 
parents, where I will seek you. Enclosed are five hundred 
dollars, enough for your present need. Farewell. 

‘©H. RIvErRs.”’ 


There was one bitter cry of hopeless anguish, and when 
Helena Rivers again awoke to perfect consciousness, she lay in 
a darkened room, soft footsteps passed in and out, kind faces, 
in which were mingled pity and reproach, bent anxiously over 
her, while at her side lay a httle tender thing, her infant 
daughter, three weeks old. And now there arose within her a 
strong desire to see once more her childhood’s home, to lay 
her aching head upon her mother’s lap, and pour out the 
tale of grief which was crushing the life from out her young 
heart. 

As soon, therefore, as her health would permit, she started 
for Oakland, taking the precaution to procure from the clergy- 
man, who had married her, a letter confirming the fact. 
Wretched and weary she reached her home at the dusk of 
evening, and with a bitter cry fell fainting in the arms of her 
mother, who having heard regularly from her, never dreamed 
that she was elsewhere than in the employ of Mrs. Warren. 
With streaming eyes and trembling hands the old man and his 
wife made ready the spare room for the wanderer, more than 
once blessing the fearful storm which for a time, at least, would 
keep away the prying eyes of those who, they feared, would 
hardly credit their daughter’s story, 

And their fears were right, for many of those who visited 
them on the night of which we have spoken, disbelieved the 
tale, mentally pronouncing the clergyman’s letter a forgery, 
got up by Helena to deceive her parents. Consequently, of 
the 4ew who from time to time came to the old farmhouse, 


LENA BIVERS. 4 


nearly aii were actuated by motives of curiosity, rather than by 
feelings of pity for the young girl-mother, who, though feeling 
their negiect, scarcely heeded it. Strong in the knowledge of 
her own innocence, she lay day after day, watching and wait- 
ing for one who never came. But at last, as days glided into 
weeks, and weeks into months, hope died away, and turning 
wearily upon her pillow, she prayed that she might die; and 
when the days grew bright and gladsome in the warm spring 
sun, when the snow was melted from off the mountain tops, 
and the first robin’s note was heard by the farmhouse door, 
Helena laid her baby on her mother’s bosom, and without a 
murmur glided down the dark, broad river, whose deep waters 
move onward and onward, but never return. 

When it was known in Oakland that Helena was dead, there 
came a reaction, and those who had been loudest in their 
condemnation, were now the first to hasten forward with offers 
of kindness and words of sympathy. But neither tears nor 
regrets could recall to life the fair young girl, who, wondrously 
beautiful even in death, slept calmly in her narrow coffin, a 
smile of sadness wreathing her lips, as if her last prayer had 
been for one who had robbed her thus early of happiness and 
life. In the bright green valley at the foot of the mountain, 
they buried her, and the old father, as he saw the damp earth 
fall upon her grave, asked that he too might die. But his 
wife, younger by several years, prayed to live—live that she 
might protect and care for the little orphan, who first by its 
young mother’s tears, and again by the waters of the baptismal 
fountain, was christened HELENA Rivers ;—the ’Lena of our 
story. 





CHAPTER It. 
JOHN. 


TEN years of sunlight and shadow have Ipesed away, and 
the little grave at the foot of the mountain is now grass-grown 
amd sunken. Ten times have the snows of winter fallen upon 
the hoary head of Grandfather Nichols, bleaching his thin locks 
to their own whiteness and bending his sturdy frame, until now, 
the old man lay dying—dying in the same blue-curtained room, - 
where years agone his only daughter was born, and where ter 


6 ZENA RIVERS. 


years before she had died. Carefully did Mrs. Nicnois nurse 
him, watching, weeping, and praying that he might live, while 
little "Lena gladly shared her grandmother’s vigils, hovering 
ever by the bedside of her grandfather, who seemed more quiet 
when her soft hand smoothed his tangled hair or wiped the 
cold moisture from his brow. ‘The Sates too, remember- 
ing their neglect, when once before death had brooded 
over the mountain farmhouse, now daily came with offers of 
assistance. 

Rut one thing still was wanting. John, their only remain- 
ing child, was absence, and the sick man’s heart grew sad and 
his eyes dim with tears, as day by day went by, and still he 
did not come. Several times had ’Lena written to her uncle, 
apprising him of his father’s danger, and once only had he 
answered. It was a brief, formal letter, written, evidently, 
under some constraint, but it said that he was coming, and with 
childish joy the old man had placed it beneath his pillow, with- 
drawing it occasionally for ’Lena to read again, particularly the 
passage, ‘‘ Dear father, | am sorry you are sick.” 

‘‘Heaven bless him! I know he’s sorry,’’ Mr. Nichols 
would say. ‘‘ He was always a good boy—is a good boy now. 
Ain’t he, Martha? ”’ 

And mother-like, Mrs. Nichols would answer, ‘‘ Yes,”’ forc- 
ing back the while the tears which would start when she 
thought how long the ‘good boy’’ had neglected them, eigh- 
teen years having elapsed since he had crossed the threshold of 
his home. 

With his hand plighted to one of the village maidens, he had 
jeft Oakland to seek his fortune, going first to New York, then 
to Ohio, and finally wending his way southward, to Kentucky. 
Here he remained, readily falling into the luxurious habits of 
those around him, and gradually forgetting the low-roofed 
farmhouse far away to the northward, where dwelt a grey-haired 
pair and a beautiful young girl, his parents and his sister. She 
to whom his vows were plighted was neither graceful nor culti- 
vated, and when, occasionally, her tall,, spare figure and un- 
couth manners arose before him, in Contrast with the fair forms 
around him, he smiled derisively at the thoughts of making “er 
his wife. 

About this time there came from New Orleans a wealthy in- 
valid, with his only daughter Matilda. She was a proud haughty 
gitl, whose disposition, naturally unamiable, was rendered 
still worse by a disappointment from which she was suffering. 


LENA RIVERS. ® 


Accidentally Mr. Richards, her father, made the acquaintance 
of John Nichols, conceiving for him a violent fancy, and finally 
securing him as aconstant companion. For several weeks John 
appeared utterly oblivious to the presence of Matilda who, 
accustomed to adulation, began at last to feel piqued at his 
neglect, and to strive in many ways to attract his attention. 

John, who was ambitious, met her advances more than half 
way, and finally, encouraged by her father, offered her his 
heart and hand. Under other circumstances, Matilda would 
undoubtedly have spurnea .1m with contempt; but having 
heard that her recreant lover was about taking to himself a 
bride, she felt a desire, as she expressed it, ‘‘to let him know 
she could marry too.”. Accordingly, John was accepted, on 
condition that he changed the name of Nichols, which Miss 
Richards particularly disliked, to that of Livingstone. This 
was easily done, and the next letter which went to Oakland 
carried the news of John’s marriage with the proud Matilda. 

A few months later and Mr. Richards died, leaving his entire 
property to his daughter and her husband. John was now 
richer far than even in his wildest dreams he had ever hoped to 
be, and yet like many others, he found that riches alone could 
not insure happiness. And, indeed, to be happy with Matilda» 
Richards, seemed impossible. Proud, avaricious, and over- 
bearing, she continually taunted her husband with his entire 
dependence upon her, carefully watching him, lest any of her 
hoarded wealth should find its way to the scanty purse of his 
parents, of whom she always spoke with contempt. 

Never but once had they asked for aid, and that to help 
them rear the little "Lena. Influenced by his wife, John re- 
plied sneeringly, scouting the idea of Helena’s marriage, de- 
nouncing her as his sister, and saying of her child, that the 
poorhouse stood ready for such as she! This letter "Lena had 
accidentally found among her grandfather’s papers, and though 
its contents gave her no definite impression concerning her 
mother, it inspired her with a dislike for her uncle, whose com- 
ing she greatly dreaded, for it was confidently expected that 
she, together with her grandmother, would return with him to 
Kentucky. 

‘¢ You'll be better off there than here,’’ said her grandfather 
one day, when speaking of the subject. ‘“ Your Uncle John is 
tich, and you’ll grow up a fine lady.”’ 

*¢T don’t want to bea lady—I won’t be a lady,’’ said ’Lena, 
passionately. ‘*I don’t like Uncle John. He called my mother 


10 LUNA RIVERS. 


a bad woman and me a little brat! I hate him!” and the 
beautiful brown eyes glittering with tears flashed forth their 
anger quite as eloquently as language could express it. 

The next moment ’Lena was bending over her grandfather, 
asking to be forgiven for the hasty words which she knew had 
caused him pain. ‘Vil try to like him,” said she, as the 
palsied hand stroked her disordered curls in token of forgive- 
ness, ‘‘1’ll try to like him; ’’ adding mentally, ‘‘ but I do hope 
he won’t come.”’ 

It would seem that ’Lena’s wish was to be granted, for weeks 
glided by and there came no tidings of the absent one. Daily 
Mr. Nichols grew weaker, and when there was no longer hope 
of life, his heart yearned more and more to once more behold 
his son ; to hear again, ere he died, the blessed name of father. 

‘¢’Lena,’’ said Mrs. Nichols one afternoon when her hus- 
band seemed worse, ‘‘ Lena, it’s time for the stage, and do 
you run down to the ‘turn’ and see if your uncle’s come; 
something tells me he’ll be here to-night.” 

’Lena obeyed, and throwing on her faded calico sunbonnet, 
she was soon at the ‘‘turn,’’ a point in the road from which 
the village hotel was plainly discernible. ‘The stage had just 
arrived, and ’Lena saw that one of the passengers evidently in- 
tended stopping, for he seemed to be giving directions concern- 
ing his baggage. 

‘«<'That’s Uncle John, I most know,’’ thought she, and seat- 
ing herself on a rock beneath some white birches, so common 
in New England, she awaited his approach. She was right in 
her conjecture, for the stranger was John Livingstone, returned 
after many years, but so changed that the jolly landlord, who 
had known him when a boy, and with whom he had cracked 
many a joke, now hardly dared to address him, he seemed so | 
cold and haughty. | 

«*T will leave my trunk here for a few days,’’ said John, 
*¢and perhaps I shall wish for aroom. Got any decent ac- 
fommodations ?”’ 

‘¢ Wonder if he don’t calculate to sleep to hum,”’ thought the 
landlord, replying at the same instant, ‘‘ Yes, sir, tiptop ac- 
commodations. Hain’t more’n tew beds in any room, and 
nowadays we allers has a wash-bowl and pitcher; don’t go to 
the sink as we used to when you lived round here.”’ 

With a gesture of impatience Mr. Livingstone left the house 
and started up the mountain road, where ’Lena still kept her 
watch. Oh, how that walk recalled to him the memories of 


LENA RIVERS. 11 


other days, which came thronging about him as one by one 
familiar way-marks appeared, reminding him of his childbiGod: 
when he roamed over that mountain-side with those who were 
now scattered far and wide, some on the deep, blue sea, some 
at the distant west, and others far away across the dark river of 
death. He had mingled much with the world since last he 
had traversed that road, and his heart had grown callous and 
indifferent, but he was not entirely hardened, and when at the 
‘‘turn’’? in the road, he came suddenly upon the tall walnut 
tree, on whose shaggy bark his name was carved, together with 
that of another—a maiden—he started as if smitten with a 
heavy blow, and dashing a tear from his eye he exclaimed 
«‘ Oh that I were a boy aeait Poe 

From her seat on the mossy rock ’Lena had been watching 
him. She was very ardent and impulsive, strong in her likes 
and dislikes, but quite ready to change'the latter if she saw any 
indications of improvement in the person disliked. ‘or her 
uncle she had conceived a great aversion, and whe che saw 
him approaching, thrusting aside the thistles and dandelions 
with his gold-headed cane, she mimicked his motions, wonder- 
ing ‘if he didn’t feel big because he wore a large gold chain 
dangling from his jacket pocket.”’ 

But when she saw his emotions beneath the walnut tree, her. 
opinion suddenly changed. ‘A very bad man wouldn’t cry,” 
she thought, and springing to his side, she grasped his hand, 
exclaiming, ““i know you are my Uncie John, and I’m real 
glad you’ve come. Granny thought you never would, and 
grandpa asks for you all the time.”’ 

Had his buried sister arisen before him, Mr. Livingstone 
would hardly have been more startled, for in form and feature 
*Lena was exactly what her mother had been at her age. The 
same clear complexion, large brown eyes, and wavy hair; and 
the tones of her voice, too, how they thrilled the heart of the 
strong man, making him a boy again, guiding the steps of his 
baby sister, or bearing her gently in his arms when the path 
was steep and stony. It was but a moment, however, and then 
the vision faded. His sister was dead, and the little girl before 
him was her child—the child of shame he believed, or rather. 
his wife had said it so often that he began to believe it. Glanc- 
ing at the old-womanish garb in which Mrs. Nichols always 
arrayed her, a smile of mingled scorn and pity curled his lips, 
as he thought of presenting her to his fastidious wife and ele- 
gant daughters ; ; then withdrawing the hand which she had 


ek, 


bors LENA RIVERS. 


taken, he said, ««And you are ’Lena—’Lena Nichols they call 
you, I suppose.” 

"Lena’s old dislike began to return, and placing both hands 
upon her hips in imitation of her grandmother, she replied, 
«‘No’tain’t Lena Nichols, neither. It’s’Lena Rivers. Granny 
says so, and the town clark has got itso on his book. How 
are my cousins? Are they pretty well? And how is Ant?” 

Mr. Livingstone winced, at the same time feeling amused at 
this little specimen of Yankeeism, in which he saw so much of 
his mother. Poor little "Lena! how should she know any bet- 
ter, living as she always had with two old people, whose lan- 
guage savored so much of the days before the flood! Some 
such thought passed through Mr. Livingstone’s mind, and very 
civilly he answered her concerning the health of her cousins 
and aunt; proceeding next to question her of his father, who, 
she said, ‘‘ had never seen a well day since her mother died.” 

«<Is there any one with him except your grandmother?” 
asked Mr. Livingstone; and ’Lena replied, ‘‘ Aunt Nancy Sco- 
vandyke has been with us a few days, and is there now.” 

At the sound of that name John started, coloring so deeply 
that "Lena observed it, and asked ‘if he knew Miss Scovan- 
dyke?” 

_* JT used to,’”’ said he, while ’Lena continued: ‘“‘She’s a nice 
woman, and though she ain’t any connection, I cali her aunt. 
Granny thinks a sight of her.’’ 

Miss Scovandyke was evidently an unpleasant topic for Mr. 
Livingstone, and changing the subject, he said, «‘ What makes 
you say Granny, child?” 

"Lena blushed painfully. ’Twas the first word she had ever 
uttered, her grandmother having taught it to her, and encour- 
aged her in its use. Besides that, "Lena had a great horror of 
anything which she fancied was at all ‘stuck up,” and think- 
ing an entire change from.Grauny to Grandmother would be 
altogether too much, she still persisted in occasionally using her 
favorite word, in spite of the ridicule it frequentiy called forth 
from her school companions. ‘Thinking to herself that it was 
none of her uncle’s business what she called her grandmother, 
she made no reply, and in a few moments they came in sight 
of the yellow farmhouse, which locked to Mr. Livingstone just 
as it did when he left it, eighteen years before. ‘There was the 
tall poplar, with its green leaves rustling in the breeze, just as 
they had done years ago, when from a distant hilltop he looked 
‘ack to cateh the last glimpse of his home. ‘The well in the 





LENA RIVERS. 13 


teai was the same—the lilac bushes in front—the tansy patch 
on the right and the gable-roofed barn on the left; ail were 
there ; nothing was changed but himself. 

Mechanically he followed 'Lena into the yard, half expect- 
ing to see bleaching upon the grass the same web of home-made 
cloth, which he remembered had lain there when he went away. 
One thing alone seemed strange. The blue paper curtains were 
rolled away from the ‘‘ spare room’’ windows which were open 
as if to admit as much air as possible. 

s¢f shouldn’t wonder if grandpa was worse,’’ said “Lena, 
hurrying him along and ushering him at once into the sick- 
room. 

At first Mrs. Nichols did not observe him, for she was bend- 
ing tenderly over the white, wrinkled face, which lay upon the 
smali, scanty pillow. John thought ‘‘ how small and scanty:they 
were,’’ while he almost shuddered at the sound of his footsteps 
upon the uncarpeted floor. Everything was dreary and com- 
fortless, and his conscience reproached him that his old father 
should die so poor, when he counted his money by thousands. 

As he passed the window his tall figure obscured the fading 
daylight, causing his mother to raise her head, and in a moment 
her long, bony arms were twined around his neck. The cruel 
letter, his long neglect, were all forgotten in the joy of once 
more beholding her ‘darling boy,’’ whose bearded cheek she 
kissed again and again. John was unused to such demonstra- 
tions of affection, except, indeed, from his little golden-haired 
Anna, who was refined and polished, and all that, which made 
a vast difference, as he thought. Still, he returned his mother’s 
greeting with a tolerably good grace, managing, however, to 
tear himself from her as soon as possible. 

‘‘How is my father?’’ he asked; and his mother replied, 
‘«‘He grew worse right away after ‘Leny went out, and he 
seemed so put to’t for breath, that Nancy went for the doc- 
tor ’’— 

Here a movement from the invalid arrested her attention and 
going to the bedside she saw that he was awake. Bending over 
him she whispered softly, ‘‘John has come. Would you like 
to see him?” 

Quickly the feeble arms were outstretched, as if to feel what 
could not be seen, for the old man’s eye esight was dim with the 
shadows of death. 

Taking both his father’s hands in his, John said, ‘* Here I 
amo, father; can’t you see me?”’ 


i4 LENA RIVERS. 


‘©No, John, no; I can’t see you.” And the poor man wept 
like a little child. Soon growing more calm, he continued : 
‘«¢ Your voice is the same that it was years ago, when you lived 
with us at home. That hasn’t changed, though they say your 
name has. Oh, John, my boy, how could youdoso? ‘Twas 
a good name—my name—and you the only one left to bear it. 
What made you do so; oh John, John?”’ 

Mr. Livingstone did not reply, and after a moment his father 
again spoke: ‘John, lay your hand on my forehead. It’s cold 
as ice. J am dying, and your mother will be left alone. We 
are poor, my son; poorer than you think. ‘The homestead is 
mortgaged for all it’s worth and there are only a few dollars in 
the purse. Oh, I worked so hard to earn them for her and the 
girl—Helena’s child. Now, John, promise me that when I am 
gone they shall go with you to your home in the west. “Promise, 
and I shail die happy.” 

This was a new idea to John, and for a time he hesitated. 
He glanced at his mother; she was ignorant and peculiar, but 
she was his mother still. He looked at ’Lena, she was beauti- 
ful—he knew that, but she was odd and old-fashioned. He 
thought of his haughty wife, his headstrong son and _ his im- 
perious daughter. What would ¢hey say if he made that prom- 
ise, for if he made it he would keep it. 

A long time his father awaited his answer, and then he spoke 
again: ‘‘Won’t you give your old mother a home?” 

The voice was weaker than when it spoke before, and John 
knew that life was fast ebbing away, for the brow on which his 
hand was resting was cold and damp with the moisture of 
death. He could no longer refuse, and the promise was given. 

The next morning, the deep-toned bell of Oakland told that 
another soul was gone, and the villagers as they counted the 
three score strokes and ten, knew that Grandfather Nichols was 
numbered with the dead. 





CHAPTER III. 
PACKING UP. 


‘THE funeral was over, and in the quiet valley by the side of 
his only daughter, Grandfather Nichols was laid to rest. As 
far as possible his father’s business was settled, and then John 
began to speak of his returning. More than once had he re- 


LENA RIVERS. 15 


pented of the promise made to his father, and as the time 
passed on he shrank more and more from introducing his 
‘¢ plebeian ’’ mother to his ‘‘lady’’ wife, who, he knew, was 
meditating an open rebellion. 

Immediately after his father’s death he had written to his 
wife, telling her all, and trying as far as he was able to smooth 
matters over, so that his mother might at least have a decent 
reception. In a violent passion, his wife had answered, that 
*‘she never would submit to it—never. When I married you,’’ 
said she, ‘‘I didn’t suppose I was marrying the ‘old woman,’ 
young one, and all; and as for my having them to maintain, I 
will not, so Mr. John Nichols, you understand it.’’ 

When Mrs. Livingstone was particularly angry, she called 
her husband Mr. John Nichols, and when Mr. John Nichols 
was particularly angry, he did as he pleased, so in this case he 
replied that ‘‘he should bring home as many ‘old women’ and 
‘young ones’ as he liked, and she might help herself if she 
could! ”’ 

This state of things was hardly favorable to the future hap- 
piness of Grandma Nichols, who, wholly unsuspecting and 
deeming herself as good as anybody, never dreamed that her 
presence would be unwelcome to her daughter-in-law, whom 
she thought to assist in various ways, ‘‘taking perhaps the 
whole heft of the housework upon herself !—though,’’ she ad- 
ded, ‘‘I mean to begin just as I can hold out. I’ve hearn of 
such things as son’s wives shirkin’ the whole on to their old 
mothers, and the minit ’Tilda shows any signs of that, I shall 
back out, I tell you.” 

John, who overheard this remark, bit his lip with vexation, 
and then burst into a laugh as he fancied the elegant Mrs. Liv- 
ingstone’s dismay at hearing herself called ’77/da. Had John 
chosen, he could have given his mother a few useful hints with 
regard to her treatment of his wife, but such an idea never en- 
tered his brain. He was a man of few words, and generally 
allowed himself to be controlled by circumstances, thinking 
that the easiest way of getting through the world. He was 
very proud, and keenly felt how mortifying it would be to pre- 
sent his mother to his fashionable acquaintances; but that was 
in the future—many miles away—he wouldn’t trouble himself 
about it now ; so he passed his time mostly in rambling through 
the woods and over the hills, while his mother, good soul, 
dusied herself with the preparations for her journey, inviting 
each and every one of her neighbors to ‘‘ be sure ana visit her 


1¢ “LENA RIVERS. 


if they ever came that way,’’ and urging some of thera to come 
on purpose and ‘‘ spend the winter.” 

Among those who promised compliance with this last re- 
quest, was Miss Nancy Scovandyke, whom we have once before 
mentioned, and who, as the reader will have inferred, was the 
first love of John Livingstone. On the night of his arrival, she 
had been sent in quest of the physician, and when on her return 
she learned from ’Lena that he had come, she kept out of 
sight, thinking she would wait awhile before she met him, 
«¢ Not that she cared the snap of her finger for him,” she said, 
‘¢ only it was natural that she should hate to see him.” 

But when the time did come, she met it bravely, shaking his 
hand and speaking to him as if nothing had ever happened, 
and while he was wondering how he ever could have fancied 
her, she, too, was mentally styling herself ‘‘a fool,’’ for having 
liked ‘‘such a dussy, overgrown thing!” Dearly did Miss 
Nancy love excitement, and during the days that Mrs. Nichols 
was packing up, she was busy helping her to stow away the 
*‘crockery,’’ which the old lady declared should go, particu- 
larly the ‘‘blue set, which she’d had ever since the day but 
one before John was born, and which she intended as a part of 
*Leny’s settin’ out. Then, too, John’s wife could use ’em 
when she had a good deal of company; *twould save buyin’ 
new, and every little helped !”’ 

<¢T wonder, now, if ’Tilda takes snuff,’’ said Mrs. Nichols, 
one day, seating herself upon an empty dry-goods box which 
stood in the middle of the floor, and helping herself to an 
enormous pinch of her favorite Maccaboy; ‘‘1I wonder if she 
takes snuff, ’cause if she does, we shall take a sight of comfort 
together.”’ 

‘‘T don’t much b’lieve she does,”’ answered Miss Nancy, 
whose face was very red with trying to cram a pair of cracked 
bellows into the already crowded top of John’s leathern trunk, 
s¢T don’t b’lieve she does, for somehow it seems to me she’s a 
nighty nipped-up thing, not an atom like you nor me.” 

«¢Like enough,’’ returned Mrs. Nichols, finishing her snuff, 
and wiping her fingers upon the corner of her checked apron; 
“‘but, Nancy, can you tell me how in the world I’m ever going 
to carry this mop? It’s bran new, never been used above a 
dozen times, and I can’t afford to give it away.” 

At this point, John, who was sitting in the adjoining room 
came forward. Hitherto he had not interfered in the least ' 
his mother’s arrangements, but had looked silently on while she 


LENA RIVERS. | 1% 


packed away article after article, which she would never need, 
and which undoubtedly would be consigned to the flames the 
moment her back was turned. The mop business, however, 
was too much for h‘:a, and before Miss Nancy had time to re- 
ply, he said, ‘‘ For heaven’s sake, mother, how many traps do 
you propose taking, and what do you imagine we can do with 
amop? Why, I dare say not one of my servants would know 
how to use it, and it’s a wonder if some of the little chaps 
didn’t take it for a horse before night.”’ 

“A nigger ride my mop! my new mof ~" exclaimed Mrs. 
Nichols, rolling up her eyes in astonishment hile Miss Nancy, 
turning to John, said, ‘‘ In the name of the people, how do a 
live without mops? T should s’ pose you'd rot alive!” 

«*T am not much versed in the mysteries of housekeeping,”’ 
returned John, with a smile; ‘‘ but it’s my impression that 
what little cleaning our floors get is done with a cicth.”’ 

‘«¢ Wall, if I won’t give it up now,’’ said Miss Nancy. ‘As 
good an abctutionist as you used to be, make the poor colored 
flolks wash the floor with a rag, on their hands and knees! It 
can’t be that you indulge a hope, if you’ll do such things! ”’ 

John made Miss Nancy no answer, but turning to his mother, 
he said, ‘‘I’m in earnest, mother, about your carrying so many 
useless things. Wedon’t want them. Our house is full now, 
and besides that, Mrs. Livingstone is very particular about the 
style of her furniture, and I am afraid yours would hardly come 
up to her ideas of elegance.”’ 

‘That chist of drawers,” said Mrs. Nichols, pointing to an 
old-fashioned, high-topped bureau, ‘cost an ocean of money 
“when ’twas new, and if the brasses on it was rubbed up, "Tilda 
couldn’t tell "em from gold, unless she’s seen more on’t than 
I have, which ain’t much likely, bein’ I’m double her age.”’ 

‘¢The chest does very well for you, I admit,’’ said John, 
*‘ but we have neither use nor room for it, so if you can t sell 
it, why, give it away, or burn it, one or the other.’” 

Mrs. Nichols saw he was decided, and forthwith ’Lena was 
dispatched to Widow Fisher’s, to see if she would take it at 
half price. ‘The widow had no fancy for second-hand articles, 
consequently Miss Nancy was told ‘‘to keep it, and maybe 
she’d sometime have a chance to send it to Kentucky. It 
won’t come amiss, I know, s’posin’ they be well on’t. I 
b’lieve in lookin’ out for a rainy day. I can teach ’Tilda 
economy’ yet,’’ whispered Mrs. Nichols, glancing toward the 
toom where John sat, whistling, whittling, and pondering is 


¥ 


“a 


18 LENA RIVERS. 


his own mind the best way of reconciling his wife to what could 
not well be helped. 

"Lena, who was naturally quick-sighted, had partially divined 
the cause of her uncle’s moodiness. The more she saw of him 
the better she liked him, and she began to think that she would 
willingly try to cure herself of the peculiarities which evidently 
annoyed him, if he would only notice her a little, which he was 
not likely to do. He seldom noticed any child, much less 
little Lena, who he fancied was ignorant as well as awkward ; 
but he did not know her. 

One day when, as usual, he sat whittling and thinking, ’Lena 
approached him softly, and laying her hand upon his knee, said 
rather timidly, ‘‘ Uncle, I wish you’d tell me something about 
my cousins.”’ 

‘* What about them,’’ he asked, somewhat gruffly, for it grated 
upon his feelings to hear Azs daughters called cousin by her. 

‘© want to know how they look, and which one I shall like 
the best,’’ continued ’Lena. 

«‘You’ll like Anna the best,’’ said her uncle; and ’Lena 
asked, ‘Why! What sort of a girl is she? Does she love to 
go to school and study ?”’ 

‘©None too well, I reckon,’’ returned her uncle, adding that 
‘<there were not many little girls who did.”’ 

‘¢ Why / do,’’ said "Lena, and her uncle, stopping for a mo- 
ment his whittling, replied rather scornfully, «« You / I should 
like to know what you ever studied besides the spelling-book ! ”’ 

"Lena reddened, for she knew that, whether deservedly or 
not, she bore the reputation of being an excellent scholar, for 
one of her age, and now she rather tartly answered, ‘‘I study 
geography, arithmetic, grammar, and ’’—history, she was go- 
ing to add, but her uncle stopped her, saying, ‘‘ That'll do, 
that’ll do. You study all these? Now I don’t suppose you 
know what one of ’em is.’’ 

«Yes, I do,”’ said ’Lena, with a good deal of spirit. ‘* Ol- 
ney’s geography is a description of the earth; Colburn’s arith- 
metic is the science of numbers; Smith’s grammar teaches us 
how to speak correctly.” 

‘‘Why don’t you do it then?’”’ asked her uncle. 

“‘Do what?’’ said ’Lena, and her uncle continued, ‘* Why 
don’t you make some use of your boasted knowledge of gram- 
mar? Why, my Anna has never seen the inside of a grammar, 
as I know of, but she don’t falk like you do.” 

"Don’t whet, sir?’’ said ’ Lena. 


LENA LIVES. 13 


“Don’t fale ike you do,’’ repeated her uncle, while “Lena’s 
eyes fairly danced with mischief as she asked, “if that were 
good grammar.” 

Mr. Livingstone colored, thinking it just possible that he 
himself might sometimes be guilty of the same things for which 
he had so harshly chided ’Lena, of whom from this time he 
began to think more favorably. It could hardly be said that 
he treated her with any more attention, and still there was a 
difference whieh she felt, and which made her very happy. 





CHAPTER IV. 
ON THE ROAD. 


At last the packing-up process came to anend. Everything 
too poor to sell, and too good to give away, had found a place 
—some here, some there, and some in John’s trunk, among his 
ruffled bosoms, collars, dickeys, and so forth. Miss Nancy, 
who stood by until the last, was made the receiver of sundry 
cracked teacups, noseless pitchers, and iron spoons, which 
could not be disposed of elsewhere. 

And now every box and trunk was ready. Farmer Trues- 
dale’s red wagon stood at the door, waiting to convey them tc 
the depot, and nothing remained for Grandma Nichols, but to 
bid adieu to the old spot, endeared to her by so many associ- 
ations. Again and again she went from room to room, weeping 
always, and lingering longest in ‘xe one where her children 
were born, and where her husband and daughter had died. 
In the corner stood the old low-post bedstead, the first she had 
ever owned, and now how vividly she recalled the time long 
years before, when she, a happy maiden, ordered that bedstead, 
blushing deeply at the sly allusion which the cabinet maker 
made to her approaching marriage. Ze, too, was with her, 
strong and healthy. Now, he was gone from her side forever. 
ffis couch was a narrow coffin, and the old bedstead stood 
there, naked—empty. Seating herself upon it, the poor old 
lady rocked to and fro, moaning in her grief, and wishing that 
she were not going to Kentucky, or that it were possible now 
to remain at her mountain home. Summoning all her courage, 
she gave one glance at the familiar objects around her, at the 
flowers she had planted, and then taking ’Lena’s hand, went 
down to the gate, where her son waited. 


BO LENA RIVERS. 


He saw she had been weeping, and though he could not ap- 
preciate the cause of her tears, in his heart he pitied her, and 
his voice and manner were unusually kind as he helped her to 
the best seat in the wagon, and asked if she were comfortable. 
Then his eye fell upon her dress, and his pity changed te 
anger as he wondered if she was wholly devoid of taste. At 
the time of his father’s death, he purchased decent mourning for 
both his mother and ’Lena; but these Mrs. Nichols pronounced 
‘‘altoeether too good for the nasty cars; nobody’d think any 
better of them for being rigged out in their best meetin’ gowns.”’ 

So the bombazine was packed away, and in its place she wore 
a dark blue and white spotted calico, which John could have 
sworn she had twenty years before, and which was not unlikely, 
as she wore never outa garment. She was an enemy to long 
skirts, hence hers came just to her ankles; and as her black 
stockings had been footed with white, there was visible a dark 
rim. AJtogether she presented a rather grotesque appearance, 
with her oblong work-bag, in which were her snuff-box, brass 
spectacles and half a dozen ‘‘nut-cakes,’’ which would ‘‘ save 
John’s buying dinner.” 

Unlike her grandmother’s, "Lena’s dress was a great deal 
too long. and as she never wore pantalets, she had the look of 
a preinature old woman, instead of a child ten summers old, as 
she was. Still the uncommon beauty of her face, and the nat- 
ural gracefulness of her form, atoned in a measure for the sin- 
gularity of her appearance. 

In the doorway stood Miss Nancy, and by her side her 
nephew, Joel Slocum, a freckle-faced boy, who had frequently 
shown a preference for "Lena, by going with her for her grand- 
mother’s cow, bringing her harvest apples, and letting her ride 
on his sled oftener than the other girls at schoul. Strange to 
say, his affection was not returned, and now, notwithstanding 
he severai times wiped both eyes and nose, on the end of which 
there was am enormous freck, "Lena did not relent at all, but 
with a simple ‘‘Good-bye, Jo,’’ she sprang into the wagon, 
which moved rapidly away. 

It was about five miles from the farmhouse to the depot, and 
when half that distance had been gone over, Mrs. Nichols sud- 
denly seized the reins, ordering the driver to stop, and saying, 
**she must go straight back, for on the shelf of the north room 
cupboard she had left a whole paper of tea, which she couldn’t 
afford to lose | ”” 

“‘ Drive on,’ said John, rather angrily, at the same time 


ee eee | 


LENA RIVERS. A 


telling his motner that he could buy her a ton of tea if she 
wanted it. 

‘¢But that was already bought, and ’twould have saved so 
much,’’ said she, softly wiping away a tear, which was occa- 
sioned partly by her son’s manner, and partly by the great 
loss she felt she sustained in leaving behind her favorite ‘ old 
hyson.”’ 

This saving was a matter of which Grandma Nichols said so 
much, that John, who was himself slightly avaricious, began to 
regret that he ever knew the definition of the word seve. Lest 
our readers get a wrong impression of Mrs. Nichols, we must 
say that she possessed very many sterling qualities, and her 
habits of extreme economy resulted more from the manner in 
which she had been compelled to live, than from natural stingi- 
ness. For this John hardly made allowance enough, and his 
mother’s remarks, instead of restraining him, only made him 
more lavish of his money than he would otherwise have been. 

When Mrs. Nichols and ’Lena entered the cars, they of 
course attracted universal attention, which annoyed John ex- 
cessively. In Oakland, where his mother was known and ap- 
preciated, he could bear it, but among strangers, and with those 
of his own caste, it was different ; 3 sO motioning them into the 


_ first unoccupied seat, hc sauntered on with an air which seemed 
to say, ‘‘they were nothing to him,” and finding a vacant seat 


at the other end of the car, he took possession of it. Scarcely, 


however, had he entered into conversation with a gentleman 
p) 5 


near him, when some one grasped his arm, and looking up, he 
saw his mother, her box in one hand, and an enormous pinch 
of snuff in the other. 

*‘John,’’ said she, elevating her voice so as to drown the 
noise of the cars, ‘‘I never thought on’t till this minit, but I’'d 
just as lief ride in the second-class cars as not, and it only costs 
half as much!”’ 

Mr. Livingstone colored crimson, and bade her go ba ‘ib say- 
ing that if he paid the fare she needn’t feel troubled about the 
cost. Just as she was turning to leave, the loud an and 
whistle, as the train neared a crossing, startled her, and in 
great alarm she asked if ‘*‘somethin’ hadn’t bust !’’ 

John made no answer, but the gentleman near him very 
politely explained to her the cause of the disturbance, after 
which, she returned to her seat. When the conductor ap- 
peared, he fortunately came in at the door nearest John, who 
pointed out the two, for whom he had tickets, and then turned 





39 LENA RBIVERS., 


again to converse with the gentleman, who, though a stranger, 
was from Louisville, Kentucky, and whose acquaintance was 
easily made. The sight of the conductor awoke in Mrs. 
Nichols’s brain a new idea, and after peering out upon the 
platform, she went rushing up to her son, telling him that *‘ the 
trunks, box, feather bed, and all, were every one on ’em left ! ** 

-*No, they are not,’’ said John; ‘‘I saw them aboard my- 
self.’’ 

‘¢ Wall, then, they’re lost off, for as sure as you’re born, there 
ain’t one on ’em in here; and there’s as much as twenty weight 
of new feathers, besides all the crockery! Holler to ‘em to 
stop quick ! ”’ 

The stranger, pitying Mr. Livingstone’s chagrin, kindly ex- 
plained to her that there was a baggage car on purpose for 
trunks and the like, and that her feather bed was undoubtedly 
safe. This quieted her, and mentally styling him ‘a proper 
nice man,’’ she again returned to her seat. 

‘A rare specimen of the raw Yankee,’’ said the stranger to 
john, neyer dreaming in what relation she stood to him. 

‘¢ Yes,’’ answered John, not thinking it at all necessary to 
make any further explanations. 

By this time Mrs. Nichols had attracted the attention of ail 
the passengers, who watched her movements with great inter- 
est. Among these was a fine-looking youth, fifteen or sixteen — 
years of age, who sat directly in front of "Lena. He had a re- 
markably open, pleasing countenance, while there was that in 
his eyes which showed him to be a lover of fun. Thinking he 
had now found it in a rich form, he turned partly round, and 
would undoubtedly have quizzed Mrs. Nichols unmercifully, 
had not something in the appearance of ’Lena prevented him, 
This was also her first ride in the cars, but she possessed a tact 
of concealing the fact, and if she sometimes felt frightened, she 
looked in the faces of those around her, gathering from them 
that there was no danger. She knew that her grandmother was 
making herself ridiculous, and her eyes filled with tears as she 
whispered, “Do sit still, granny ; everybody is looking at you.’’ 

The young lad noticed this, and while it quelled in him the 
spirit of ridicule, it awoke a strange interest in Lena, who he 
saw was beautiful, spite of her unseemly guise. She was a dear 
lover of nature, and as the cars sped on through the wild moun- 
tain scenery, between Pittsfield and Albany, she stood at the 
open window, her hands closely locked together, her lips 
slightly parted, and her eyes wide wtth wonder at the country 





LENA RIVERS. 23 


through which they were passing. At her grandmother’s sug- 
gestion she had removed her bonnet, and the brown curls which 
clustered around her white forehead and neck were moved up 
and down by the fresh breeze which was blowing. The youth 
was a passionate admirer of beauty, come in what garb it might, 
and now as he watched, he felt a strong desire to touch one of 
the glossy ringlets which floated within his reach. “There would 
be no harm in it, he thought—<“ she was only a little girl, and 
he was almost a man—had tried to shave, and was going to 
enter college in the fall.’’ Still he felt some doubts as to the 
propriety of the act, and was about making up his mind that he 
had better not, when the train shot into the “‘ tunnel,’’ and for 
an instant they were in total darkness. Quick as thought his 
hand sought the brown curls, but they were gone, and when 
the cars again emerged into daylight, ’Lena’s arms were around 
her grandmother’s neck, trying to hold her down, for the old 
lady, sure of a smash-up this time, had attempted to rise, 
screaming loudly for ‘‘ Johz /”’ 

The boy laughed aloud—he could not help it; but when 


‘*Lena’s eyes turned reprovingly upon him, he felt sorry; and 


anxious to make amends, addressed himself very politely to 
Mrs. Nichols, explaining to her that it was a “tunnel ’’ through 
which they had passed, and assuring her there was no danger 
whatever. Then turning to "Lena, he said, ‘<I reckon your 
grandmother is not much accustomed to traveling.’’ 

‘¢ No, sir,’’ answered ’Lena, the rich blood dyeing her cheek 
at being addressed by a stranger. 

It was the first time any one had ever said ‘‘ szr ’’ to the boy, 
and now feeling quite like patronizing the little girl, he con- 
tinued: ‘‘I believe old people generally are timid when they 
enter the cars for the first time.”’ 

Nothing from ’Lena except a slight straightening up of her 
body, and a smoothing down of her dress, but the ice was 
broken, and ere long.she and her companion were conversing 
as familiarly as if they had known each other for years. Still 
the boy was not inquisitive*-he did not ask her name, or where 
she was going, though he told her that his home was in Louis- 
ville, and that at Albany he was to take the boat for New York, 
where his mother was stopping with some friends. He also 
told her that the gentleman near the door, with dark eyes and 
whiskers, was his father. 

Glancing toward the person indicated, "Lena saw that it was 
the same gentleman who, al) the afternoon, had been talking 


24 LENA RIVERS, 


with her uncle. He was noble looking, and she felt glad that 
he was the father of the boy—he was just such a man, she 


ay fancied, as ought to be his father—just such a man as she could 


wish Aer father to be—and then ’Lena felt glad that the youth 
had asked her nothing concerning her parentage, for, though 
her grandmother had seldom mentioned her father in her pres- 
ence, there were others ready and willing to inform her that he 
was a villain, who broke her mother’s heart. 

When they reached Albany, the boy rose, and offering his 
hand to ‘Lena, said, ‘‘I suppose I must bid you good-bye, but 
I'd like right well to go farther with you.’’ 

At this moment the stranger gentleman came up, and on see- 
ing how his son was occupied, said smilingly, ‘‘So-ho! Dur- 
ward, you always manage to make some lady acquaintance.’’ 

‘‘ Ves, father,’’ returned the boy called Durward, ‘* but not 
always one like this. Isn’t she pretty,’’ he added in a whisper. 

The stranger’s eyes fell upon ’Lena’s face, and for a moment, 
as if by some strange fascination, seemed riveted there ; but the 
crowd pressed him forward, and ’Lena only heard him reply to 
his son, ‘‘ Yes, Durward, very pretty; but hurry, or we shall 
lose the boat.”? 

The next moment they were gone. Leaning from the win- 
dow, ’Lena tried to catch another glimpse of him, but in vain. 
He was gone—she would never see him again, she thought; | 
and then she fell into a reverie concerning his home, his mother, 
his sisters, if he had any, and finally ended by wishing that she 
were his sister, and the daughter of his father. While she was 
thus pondering, her grandmother, also, was busy, and when 
*Lena looked round for her she was gone. Stepping from the 
car, Lena espied her in the distance, standing by her uncle 
and anxiously watching for the appearance of her ‘‘ great trunk, © 
little trunk, band-box, and bag.’’ Each of these articles was 
forthcoming, and in a few moments they were on the ferry-boat 
crossing the blue waters of the Hudson, Mrs. Nichols declaring 
that ‘‘if she’d known it wasn’t a bridge she was steppin’ onto, 
she’d be bound they wouldn’t have got her on in one while.” 

‘©Do sit down,” said "Lena; ‘‘the other people don’t seem 
to be afraid, and I’m sure we needn’t.”’ 

This Mrs. Nichols was more willing to do, as directly at her 
side was another old lady, traveling for the first time, fright- 
ened and anxious. To her Mrs. Nichols addressed herself, an- 
nouncing her firm belief that ‘‘she should be blew sky high 
before she reached Kentucky, where she was going to live with 


LENA RIVERS. 4s) 


he: son John, who she supposed was well off, worth twenty 
negroes or more; but,’’ she added, lowering her voice, eT 
don’t b’lieve in no such, and I mean he shall set ’em free— 
poor critters, duddin’ from mornin’ till night without a cent of 
pay. He says they call him ‘master,’ but Pll warrant he’ll 
never catch me a callin’ him so tooneon’em. I promised 
Nancy Scovandyke that I wouldn’t, and I won’t!”’ 

Here a little sopcorn boy came ’round, which reminded Mrs. 
Nichol= of her money, and that she hadn’t once looked after it 
siuce she started. ‘Thinking this as favorable a time as she 
would have, she drew from her capacious pocket an old knit 
purse, and commenced counting out its contents, piece by piece. 

<‘Beware of pickpockets! ’’ said some one in her ear, and 
with the exclamation of ‘‘Oh the Lord!”’ the purse disap- 
peared in her pocket, on which she kept her hand until the 
boat touched the opposite shore. ‘Then in the confusion and 
excitement it was withdrawn, the purse was forgotten, and when 
on board the night express for Buffalo it was again looked for, 
at was gone f 

With a wild outcry the horror-stricken matron sprang up, 
calling for John, who in some alarm came to her side, asking 
what she wanted. 

‘‘T’ve lost my purse. Somebody’s stole it. Lock the door 
quick, and search every man, woman, and child in the car!” 

The conductor, who chanced to be present, now came up, 
demanding an explanation, and trying to convince Mrs. Nichols 
how improbable it was that any one present had her money. 

<¢ Stop the train then, and let me get off.’’ 

‘‘Had you a large amount ?’’ asked the conductor. 

‘¢ very cent I had in the world. Ain’t you going to let me 
get off? ’’ was the answer. 

The conductor looked inquiringly at John, whe shook his 
head, at the same time whispering to his mother not to feel so 
badly, as he would give her all the money she wanted. Then 
placing a ten dollar bill in her hand, he took a seat behind her. 
We doubt whether this would have quieted the old lady, had 
not a happy idea that moment entered her mind, causing her 
to exclaim loudly, ‘‘ There, now, I’ve just this minute thought. 
I hadn’t but fve dollars in my purse; t’other fifty I sewed up 
in an old night-gown sleeve, and tucked it away in that satchel 
up there,’’ pointing to ’Lena’s traveling bag, which hung over 
her head. She would undoubtedly have designated the very 
corner of said satchel in which her money could be found, had 


26 LENA RIVERS. 


not her son touched her shoulder, bidding her be silent anu not 
tell everybody where her money was, if she didn’t want it 
stolen. 

Mrs. Nichols made no reply, but when she thought she was 
not observed, she arose, and slyly taking down the satchel, 
placed it under her. Then seating herseif upon it, she gave a 
sigh of relief as she thought, ‘‘ they’d have to work hard to get 
it now, without her knowing it!’’ Dear old soul, when arrived 
at her journey’s end, how much comfort she took in recounting 
over and over again the incidents of the robbery, wondering if 
it was, as John said, the very man who had so kindly cautioned 
her to beware of pickpockets, and who thus ascertained where 
she kept her purse. Nancy Scovandyke, too, was duly in- 
formed of her loss, and charged when she came to Kentucky, 
‘‘to look out on the ferry-boat for a youngish, good-looking 
man, with brown frock coat, blue cravat, and mouth full of 
white teeth.’ : | 

At Buffalo Mr. Livingstone had hard work to coax his mother 
on board the steamboat, but he finally succeeded, and as the 
weather chanced to be fine, she declared that ride on the 
lake to be the pleasantest part of her journey. At Cleveland 
they took the cars for Cincinnati, going thence to Lexington by 
stage. On ordinary occasions Mr. Livingstone would have pre- 
ferred vhe river, but knowing that in all probability he should 
meet with some of his friends upon the boat, he chose the route 
via Lexington, where he stopped at the Phoenix, as was his usual 
custom. 

After seeing his mother and niece into the public parlor, he 
left them for a time, saying he had some business to transact in 
the city. Scarcely was he gone when the sound of shuffling 
footsteps in the hall announced an arrival, and a moment after, 
a boy, apparently fifteen years of age, appeared in the door. 
He was richly though carelessly dressed, and notwithstanding 
the good-humored expression of his rather handsome face, 
there was in his whole appearance an indescribable something 
which at once pronounced him to be a “‘ fast”’ boy. A rowdy 
hat was set on one side of his head, after the most approved 
fashion, while in his hand he held a lighted cigar, which he ap- 
plied to his mouth when he saw the parlor was unoccupied, 
save by an “old woman”’ and a ‘little girl.”’ 

Instinctively Lena shzank from him, and withdrawing herself 
as far as possible within the recess of the window, pretended to 
9e busily watching the passers-by. But she did not escape his 


LENA RIVERS. 27 


notice, and after coolly surveying her for a moment, he walked 
up to her, saying, ‘‘ How d’ye, polywog? I'll be hanged if I 
know to what gender you belong—woman or ga/—which is it, 
hey ?”’ 

‘None of your business,’’ was ’Lena’s ready answer. 

«Spunky, ain’t you,’’ said he, unceremoniously pulling one 
of the brown curls which Durward had so longed to touch. 
‘¢Seems to me your hair don’t match the rest of you; wonder 
if ’tisn’t somebody else’s head set on your shoulders.”’ 

“No, it ain’t. It’s my own head, and you just let it alone,” 
returned ’Lena, growing more and more indignant, and won- 
dering if this were a specimen of Kentucky boys. 

<‘Don’t be saucy,’’ continued her tormentor; ‘I only want 
to see what sort of stuff you are made of.” 

‘<¢ Made of dr?,’’ muttered ’Lena. 

«<T reckon you are,’’ returned the boy; ‘‘ but say, where did 
you come from and who do you live with ?”’ 

«‘T came from Massachusetts, and I live with granny,” said 
*Lena, thinking that if she answered him civilly, he would per- 
haps let her alone. But she was mistaken. 

Glancing -t ‘‘ granny,’’ he burst into a loud laugh, and then 
placing his hat a little more on one side, and assuming a nasal 
twang, he said, ‘‘ Neow dew tell, if you’re from Massachusetts. 
How dew you dew, little Yankee, and how are all the folks to 
hum ?”’ 

Feeling sure that not only herself but all her relations were 
included in this insult, "Lena darted forward hitting him a blow 
in the face, which he returned by puffing smoke into hers, 
whereupon she snatched the cigar from his mouth and hurled 
it into the street, bidding him “touch her again if he dared.” 
All this transpired so rapidly that Mrs. Nichols had hardly time 
to understand its meaning, but fully comprehending it now, 
she was about coming to the rescue, when her son reappeared, 
exclaiming, ‘‘ /oz, John Livingstone, Jr., how came you here ?’”’ 

Had a cannon exploded at the feet of John Jr., as he was 
called, he could not have been more startled. He was not ex- 
pecting his father for two or three days, and was making the 
most of his absence by having what he called a regular “ spree.”’ 
Taking him altogether, he was, without being naturally bad, a 
spoiled child, whom no one could manage except his father, 
and as his father seldom tried, he was of course seldom man- 
aged. Never yet had he remained at any school more than 
two quurters, for if he were not sent away, he generally ran 


ite) LENA RIVERS. 


away, sure of finding a champion in his mother, who had ale 
ways petted him, calling him, ‘‘ Johnny darling,’’ until he one 
day very coolly informed her that she was ‘a silly old fool,’ 
and that ‘‘he’d thank her not to ‘Johnny darling’ him any 
longer.”’ 

tt would be difficult to describe the amazement of John Jr., 
when ’Lena was presented to him as his coustm, and Mrs. 
Nichols as his grandmother. Something which sounded very 
much like an oath escaped his lips, as turning to his father he 
muttered, ‘*Won’t mother go into fits?’’ Then, as he began 
to realize the ludicrousness of the whole affair, he exclaimed, 
<‘Rich, good, by gracious!’’ and laughing loudly, he walked 
away to regale himself with another cigar. 

"Lena began to tremble for her future happiness, if this boy 
was to live in the same house with her. She did not know 
that she had already more than half won his good opinion, for 
he was far better pleased with her antagonistical demonstra- 
tions, than he would have been had she cried or ran from him, 
as his sister Anna generally did when he teased her. After a 
few moments he returned to the parlor, and waiking up to Mrs. 
Nichols, commenced talking very sociably with her, calling her 
«‘Granny,’’ and winking slyly at "Lena as he did so. Mr. 
Livingstone had too much good sense to sit quietly by and 
hear his mother ridiculed by his son, and in a loud, stern voice 
he bade the young gentleman ‘‘ behave himseif.’’ 

‘saw, now,’’ said Mrs. Nichols, “let him talk if he wants 
to.. I like to hear him. MHe’s the only grandson I’ve got.” 

This speech had the effect of silencing John Jr. quite as 
much as his father’s command. If he could tease his grand- 
mother by talking to her, he would take delight in doing so, 
but if she wanted him to talk—that was quite another thing. 
So moving away from her, he took a seat near ’Lena, telling 
her her dress was ‘‘a heap too short,’’ and occasionally pinch- 
ing her, just to vary the sport! This last, however, ’Lena re- 
turned with so much force that he grew weary of the fun, and 
informing her that he was going to a circus which was in town 
that evening, he arose to leave the room. 

Mr. Livingstone, who partially overheard what he had said, 
stopped him and asked ‘‘ where he was going ?”’ 

Feigning a yawn and rubbing his eyes, John Jr. replied that 
*©he was confounded sleepy and was going to bed.” 

Ne Lena, where did he say he was going?’’ asked her 
un 


4 
LENA RIVERS. 29 


‘Lena trembled, for John jr. had clinched his fist, and was 
shaking it threateningly at her. 

«‘ Where did he say he was going ?’”’ repeated her uncle. 

Poor ‘Lena had never told a lie in her life, and now braving 
her cousin’s anger, she said, ‘‘ To the circus, sir. Oh, I wish 
you nad not asked me.”’ 

<¢You’ll get your pay for that,” muttered John Jr. sullenly 
reseating himself by hic father, who kept an eye on him unti 
he saw him safely in his room. 

Much as John Jr. frightened ’Lena with his threats, in his 
heart he respected her for telling the truth, and if the next 
morniny on their way home in the stage, in which his father 
compelled him to takc 2 seat, ho frequently found it convenient 
to step on her feet, it was more from a natural propensity to tor- 
ment than from any lurking feeling of revenge. ‘Lena was 
nowise backward in returning his cousinly attentions, and so 
between an interchange of kicks, wry faces, aiid’so forth, they 
proceeded toward ‘‘ Maple Grove,” a description of which will 
be given in another chapter. 


Se NN OD 


CHAPTER V. 





MAPLi. GROVE. 


THE residence of Mr. Livingstone, or rather of Mr. Living- 
stone’s wife, was a large, handsome building, such as one often 
finds in Kentucky, particularly in the country. Like. most 
planters’ houses, it stood at some little distance from the street, 
from which its massive walls, wreathed with evergreen, were 
just discernible. The carriage road which led to it passed first 
through a heavy iron gate guarded by huge bronze lions, so 
natural and lifelike, that Mrs. Nichols, when she first saw 
them, uttered a cry of fear. Next came a beautiful maple 
grove, followed by a long, green lawn, dotted here and there 
with forest trees and having on its right a deep running brook, 
whose waters, farther on at the rear of the garden, were formed 
into a miniature fish-pond. 

The house itself was of brick—two storied, and surrounded 
on three sides with a double piazza, whose pillars were entwined 
with climbing roses, honeysuckle, and running vines, so closely 
interwoven as to give it the appearance of an immense summers 


30 LENA RIVERS. 

house. In the spacious yard in front, tall shade trees ana 
bright green grass were growing, while in the well-kept gardea 
at the left, bloomed an endless variety of roses and flowering 
shrubs, which in their season filled the air with perfume, and 
made the spot brilliant with beauty. Directly through the 
centre of this garden ran the stream of which we have spoken, 
and as its mossy banks were never disturbed, they presented 
the appearance of a soft, velvety ridge, where each spring the 
starry dandelion and the blue- -eyed violet grew. 

Across the brook two small foot-bridges had been built, both 
of which were latticed and overgrown by luxuriant grapevines, 
whose dark, green foliage was now intermingled with clusters 
of the rich purple fruit. At the right, and somewhat in the 
rear of the building, was a group of linden trees, overshadow- 
ing the whitewashed houses of the negroes, who, imitating as 
far as possible the taste of their master, beautified their dwell- 
ings with hop-vines, creepers, hollyhocks and the like. Alto- 
gether, it was as ’Lena said, ‘‘just the kind of place which one 
reads of in stories,’’ and which is often found at the ‘‘sunny 
south.”” ‘The interior of the building corresponded with the 
exterior, for with one exception, the residence of a wealthy 
Englishman, Mrs. Livingstone prided herself upon having the 
best furnished house in the county ; consequently neither pains 
nor money had been spared in the selection of the furniture, 
which was of the most costly kind. 

(Carrie; the eldest of the daughters, was now about <hirteen - 
yedrs‘of age. Proud, imperious, deceitful, and self-willed, she 
was hated by the servants, and disliked by her equals. Some 
thought her pretty. She felt sure of it, and many an hour she 


spent before the mirror, admiring herself and anticipating the — 


time when she would be a grown-up lady, and as a matter or 
course, a belle. Her mother unfortunately belonged to that 
class who seemed to think that the chief aim in life is to secure 
a ‘brilliant match,” and thinking she could not commence tou 
soon, she had early instilled into her favorite daughter’s mind 
the necessity of appearing to the best possible advantage, wrcn 
..in the presence of wealth and distinction, pointing out her own 
'/ marriage as a proof of the unhappiness resulting from unegaal 
matches. In this way Carrie had early learned that her tatuer 
owed his present position to her mother’s condescension in 
matrying him—that he was once a poor boy living among the 
northern hills—that his parents were poor, ignorant ana vulgar 
~-and that there was with them a little gin, dics, s»eugnuer’s 


LENA RIVERS. 32 


child, who never had a father, and whom she must never on 
any occasion call her cousin.) iG 

All this had likewise been told to Anna, the youngest daugh- 
ter, who was about ’Lena’s age, but upon her it made no im- 
pression. If her father was once poor, he was in her opinion 
none the worse for that—and if Ae liked his parents, that was a 
sufficient reason why she should like them too, and if little 
"Lena was an orphan, she pitied her, and hoped she might 
sometime see her and tell her so! Thus Anna reasoned, while 
her mother, terribly shocked at her low-bred taste, strove to in- 
still into her mind some of her own more aristocratic notions. 
But all in vain, for Anna was purely democratic, loving every- 
body and beloved by everybody in réturn:~It is true she had 
no particular liking for books or study of any kind, but she was 
gentle and affectionate in her manner, and kindly considerate of 
other people’s feelings. With her father she was a favorite, and 
to her he always looked for sympathy, which she seldom failed 
to give—not in words, it is true, but whenever he seemed to be 
in trouble, she would climb into his lap, wind her arms around 
his neck, and laying her golden head upon his shoulder, would 
sit thus until his brow and heart grew lighter as he felt there 
was yet something in the wide world which loved and cared for 
him. 

For Carrie Mrs. Livingstone had great expectations, but 
Anna she feared would never make a “brilliant match.’’ 
For a long time Anna meditated upon this, wondering what 2 
‘‘brilliant match”? could mean, and at last she determined to 
seek an explanation from Captain Atherton, a bachelor and a 
millionaire, who was in the habit of visiting them, and whe 
always noticed and petted her more than he did Carrie. Ac- 
cordingly, the next time he came, and they were alone in the 
parlor, she broached the subject, asking him what it meant. 

Laughing loudly, the captain drew her toward him, saying, 
** Why, marrying rich, you little novice. For instance, if one 
of these days you should be my little wife, I dare say your 
mother would think you had made a brilliant match!’ and the 
well-preserved gentleman of forty glanced complacently at him- 
self in the mirror thinking how prebable it was that his youth- 
fulness would be unimpaired for at least ten years to come! 

Anna laughed, for to her his words then conveyed no serious 
meaning, but with more than her usual quickness she replied, 
that ‘‘she would as soon marry her grandfather.’’ 

With Mrs. Livingstone the reader is partially acquainted. 


33 LENA RIVERS. 


fn her youth she had been pretty, and now at thirty-eight she 
was not without pretensions to beauty, notwithstanding her sal- 
low complexion and sunken eyes.” Her hair, which was very 
abundant, was bright and glossy, and her mouth, in which the 
dentist had done his best, would have been handsome, had it 
not been for a certain draw at the corners, which gave it a 
scornful and rather disagreeable expression. In her disposition 
she was overbearing and tyrannical, fond of ruling, and deeming 
her husband a monster of ingratitude if ever in any way he 
manifested a spirit of rebellion. Didn’t she marry him? and 
now they were married, didn’t her money support him? And 
wasn’t it exceedingly amiable in her always to speak of their 
children as euvrs/ But as for the rest, ’twas my house, my serv- 
ants, my carriage, and my horses. All mine—‘‘ Mrs. John 
Livingstone’s—Miss Matilda Richards that was!’’ 

Occasionally, however, her husband’s spirit was roused, and 
then, after a series of tears, sick-headaches, and then spasms, 
‘¢ Miss Matilda Richards that was’’ was compelled to yield, 
her face for many days wearing the look of a much-injured, 
heart-broken woman. Still her influence over him was great, 
else she had never so effectually weakened every tie which 
bound him to his native home, making him ashamed of his 
parents and of everything pertaining to them. When her hus- 
band first wrote to her that his father was dead and that he 
had promised to take charge of his mother and ’Lena, she flew 
into a violent rage, which was increased tenfold when she re- 
ceived his second letter, wherein he announced his intextion of 
bringing them home in spite of her. Bursting into tears she 
declared ‘‘she’d leave the house before she’d have it filled uj 
with a lot of paupers. Who did John Nichols think he was, 
and who did he think she was! Besides that, where was he 
going to put them? for there wasn’t a place for them that she 
knew of !’’ | 

‘Why, mother,’’ said Anna, who was pleased with the pros- 
pect of a new grandmother and cousin, ‘‘ Why, mother, what 
a story. There’s the two big chambers and bedrooms, besides 
the one next to Carrie’s and mine. Oh, do put them im there. 
It’ll be so nice to have grandma and cousin ’Lena so near 
me, 
«‘ Anna Livingstone !’’ returned the indignant lady, «¢ Never 
let me hear you say grandma and cousin again.” 

‘‘ But they be grandma and cousin,’’ persisted Anna, while 
her mother commenced lamenting the circumstance which had 


Lf ; 


i 


LENA RIVERS. | Bes 


made them so, wishing, as she had often done before, that she 
had never married John Nichols. 

«¢J] reckon you are not the only one that wishes so,”’ slyly 
whispered John Jr., who was a witness to her emotion. 

Anna was naturally of an inquiring mind, and her mother’s 
last remark awoke within her a new and strange train of thought, 
causing her to wonder whose little girl she would have been, her 
father’s or mother’s in case they had each married some one 
else! As there was no one whose opinion Anna dared to ask, 
the question is undoubtedly to this day, with her, unsolved. 

The next morning when Mrs. Livingstone arose, her anger 
of the day before was somewhat abated, and knowing from past 


‘se. experience that it was useless to resist her husband when once 


he was determined, she wisely concluded that as they were now 
probably on the road, it was best to try to endure, for a time, 
at least, what could »ot well be helped. And now arose the 
perplexing question, ‘“ What should she do with them? where 
should she put them that they would be the most out of the 
way? for she could never suffer them to be round when she 
had company.’ ‘The chamber of which Anna had spoken was 
out of the question, for it was too nice, and besides that, it was 
reserved for the children of her New Orleans friends, who 
nearly every summer came up to visit her. 

At the rear of the building was a long, low room, containing 
a fireplace and two windows, which looked out upon the negro 
quarters and the hemp fields beyond. ‘This room, which in the 
summer was used for storing feather-beds, blankets, and se 
forth, was’ plastered, but minus either paper or paint. Still it 
was quite comfortable, ‘‘ better than they were accustomed to at 
home,’”’ Mrs. Livingstone said, and this she decided to give 
them. Accordingly the negroes were set at work scrubbing the 
floor, washing the windows, and scouring the sills, until the 
room at least possessed the virtue of being clean. A faded 
carpet, discarded as good for nothing, and over which the rats 
had long held their nightly revels, was brought to light, shaken, 
mended, and nailed down—then came a bedstead, which Mrs. 
Livingstone had designed as a Christmas gift to one of the 
negroes, but, which of course would do well enough for her 
mother-in-law. Next followed an old wooden rocking-chair, 
whose ancestry Anna had tried in vain to trace, and which Car- 
rie had often proposed burning. ‘This, with two or three more 
chairs of a later date, a small wardrobe, and a square table, 
completed the furniture of the room, if we except the plain 


Be LENA RIVERS. 


muslin curtains which shaded the windows, destitute of blinds. 
Taking it by itself, the room looked tolerably well, but when 
compared with the richly furnished apartments around it, is 
seemed meagre and poor indeed ; ‘‘ but if they wanted anything . 
better, they could get it themselves. They were welcome to 
make any alterations they chose.’’ 

This mode of reasoning hardly satisfied Anna, and unknown 
to her mother she took from her own chamber a handsome 
hearth-rug, and carrying it to her grandmother’s room, laid it 
before the fireplace. Coming accidentally upon a roll of green 
paper, she, with the help of: Corinda, a black girl, made some 
shades for the windows, which faced the west, rendering the 
room intolerably hot during the summer season. ‘Then, at the 
suggestion of Corinda, she looped back the muslin curtains 
with some green ribbons, which she had intended using for her 
«‘dolly’s dress.’”” The bare appearance of the table troubled 
her, but by rummaging, she brought to light a cast-off spread, 
which, though soiled and worn, was on one side quite hand- 
some. pi 
‘« Now, if we only had something for the mantel,’’ said she ; 
‘*¢it seems so empty.” 

Corinda thought a moment, then rolling up the whites of 
her eyes, replied, ‘‘Don’t you mind them little pitchers” 
(meaning vases) ‘‘which Master Atherton done gin you? 
They’d look mighty fine up thar, full of sprigs and posies.’’ 

Without hesitating a moment Anna brought the vases, and 
as she did not know the exact time when her grandmother 
would arrive, she determined to fill them with fresh flowers 
every morning. 

‘‘There, it looks a heap better, don’t it, Carrie? ’”’ said 
she to her sister, who chanced to be passing the door and 
looked in. : 

«‘ You must be smart,’’ answered Carrie, ‘‘taking so much 
pains just for them; and as I live, if you haven’t got those 
elegant vases that Captain Atherton gave you for a birthday 
present! I know mother won’t like it. I mean to tell her; ”’ 
and away she ran with the important news. 

*‘ There, I told you so,’’ said she, quickly returning. 
‘¢She says you carry them straight back and let the room 
alone.”’ 

Anna began to cry, saying, ‘‘the vases were hers, and 
she should think she might do what she pleased with them.”’ 

“What did you go and blab for, you great for shame, 


aa 


LENA RIVERS. 35 


you ?”’ exclaimed John Jr., suddenly appearing in the door- 
way, at the same time giving Carrie a push, which set fer to 
crying, and brought Mrs. Livingstone to the scene of action. 

«¢Can’t my vases stay in here? Nobody’ll hurt ’em, and 
they’ll look so pretty,’’ said Anna. 

«¢ Can’t that hateful John behave, and let me alone ?”’ said 
Carrie. 

‘*And can’t Carrie quit sticking her nose in other folks’ 
business ?’’ chimed in John Jr. 

‘‘Oh Lordy, what a fuss,’’ said Corinda, while poor Mrs. 
Livingstone, half distracted, took refuge under one of her 


“ss* dreadful headaches, and telling her children ‘‘to fight thei 


own battles and let her alone,’’ returned to her room. 

«¢ A body’d s’pose marster’s kin warn’t of no kind of count,” 
said<Aunt Milly, the head cook, to a group of sables, who, in 
the kitchen, were discussing the furniture of the ‘‘ trump’ry 
room,’’ as they were in the habit of calling the chamber set 
apart for Mrs. Nichols. ‘‘ Yes, they would s’pose they warn’t 
of no kind o’ count, the way miss goes on, ravin’ and tarin’ 
and puttin’ ’em off with low-lived truck that we biack folks 
wouldn’t begin to tache with the tongs. Massy knows ef my 
ole mother warn’t dead.and gone to kingdom come, I should 
never think o’ sarvin’ her so, and I don’t set myself up to be: 
nothin’ but an old nigger, and a black one at that. But Lor’ 
that’s the way with more’n half the white folks. ‘They jine the 
church, and then they think they done got a title deed to one 
of them houses up in heaven (that nobody ever built) sure 
enough. Goin’ straight thar, as fast as a span of race-horses 
can carry em Ki! Won’t they be disappointed, some on ’em, 
and Miss Matilda ’long the rest, when she drives up, hosses all 
a reekin’ sweat, and spects to walk straight into the best reom, 
but is told to go to the kitchen and turn hoe-cakes for us 
niggers, who are eatin’ at the fust table, with silver forks and 
napkins P ’’— 

Here old Milly stopped to breathe, and her daughter Vine, 
who had listened breathlessly to her mother’s description of the 


_‘ good time coming,’’ asked ‘‘ when these things come to pass, 


if Miss Carrie wouldn’t have to swing the feathers over the 
table to keep off the flies, instead of herself? ”’ 

‘<¢ Yes, that she will, child,’’ returned her mother. ‘‘ Things 
is all gwine to be changed in the wink of your eye. Miss 
Anna read that very tex’ to me last Sunday and I knew ina 
minit what it meant. Now thar’s Miss Anna, blessed lamb. 


* 


£6 LENA RIVERS. 


She’s one of ’em that'll wear her white gowns and stay i% 
t’other room, with her face shinin’ like an ile lamp! ”’ 

While this interesting conversation was going on in the 
kitchen, John Jr., in the parlor was teasing his mother for 
money, with which to go up to Lexington the next day. 
‘‘ You may just as well give it to me without any fuss,’’ said 
he, ‘‘for if you don’t ’l get my bills at the Phoenix charged. 
The old man is good, and they’ll trust. But then a feller feels 
more independent when he can pay down, and treat a friend, 
if he likes ; so hand over four or five V’s.”’ 

At first Mrs. Livingstone refused, but her head ached so 
hard and her ‘‘ nerves trembled so,’’ that she did not feel equal 
to the task of contending with John Jr., who was always sure 
in the end to have his own way. Yielding at last to his im- 
portunities, she gave him fifteen dollars, charging him to “‘ keep 
Jut of bad company and be a good boy.” 

<¢'Trust me for that,’’ said he, and pulling the tail of Anna’s 
pet kitten, upsetting Carrie’s work-box, poking a black baby’s 
ribs with his walking cane, and knocking down a cob-house, 
which ‘Thomas Jefferson’? had been all day building, he 
mounted his favorite ‘‘ Firelock,’’ and together with a young 
negro, rode off. 

«The Lord send us a little peace now,” said Aunt Milly, 
tossing her squalling baby up in the air, and telling Thomayg 
Jefferson not to cry, ‘‘ for his young master was done gone off.’’ 

«¢ And I hope to goodness he'll stay off a spell,’’ she added, 
“for thar’s ole Sam to pay the whole time he’s at home, and 
if ever thar was a tickled critter in this world it’s me, when he 
clar’s out.’”’ 

‘I’m glad, too,’’ said Anna, who had been sent to the 
kitchen to stop the screaming; ‘‘and I wish he’d stay ever so 
long, for [ don’t take a bit of comfort when he’s at horne.’’ 

*‘Great hateful! I-wish he didn’t live here,’’ said Carrie, 
gathering up her spools, thimble and scissors, while Mrs. 
Livingstone, feeling that his absence had taken a load from her 
fae? settled herself upon hur silken lounge and tried to 
sleep. 

Amid all this rejoicing at his departure, John Jr. put spurs 
to the fleet Firelock, who soon carried him to Lexington, 
where, as we have seen, he came unexpectedly upon his father, 
who, not daring to trust him on horseback, lest he should play 
the truant, took him into the stage with himself, leaving Fire 
lock to the care of the negro. 


» 


snes 


LENA RIVERS, | 37 


CHAPTER VI. 
THE ARRIVAL. 


«¢ Qu, mother, get up quick—the stage has driven up at the 
gate, and I reckon pa has come,”’ said Anna, bursting into the 
room where her mother, who was suffering from a headache, was 
still in bed. 

Raising herself upon her elbow, and pashan: as side the rich, 
heavy curtains, Mrs. Livingstone looked out upon the mud-be- 
spattered vehicle, from which a leg, encased in a black and 
white stocking, was just making its egress. ‘*Oh, heavens!”’ 
said she, burying her face again in the downy pillows. Wom- 
an’s curiosity, however, soon prevailed over all other feel lings, 
and again looking out ‘she obtained a full view of her mother- 
in-law, who, having emerged from the coach, was picking out 
her boxes, trunks, and so forth. When they were all found, 
Mr. Livingstone ordered two negroes to carry them te tne side 
piazza, where they were soon mounted by three or four tittle 
darkies, Thomas Jefferson among the rest. 

‘John, Jofz,’’ said Mrs. Nichols, ‘‘them ni 
scent my things, will they t Bia 

‘Don’t talk, granny,”’ whispered ’Lena, painfully conscious 
of the curious eyes fixed upon them by the bevy of blac ks, who 
had come out to greet their master, and who with sidelong 
glances at each other, were inspecting the newcomers 

‘¢ Don’t talk! why not ?”’ said Mrs. Nichols, rather sharply. 
‘¢ This is a free country I suppose.’’ Then bethinking herself, 
she added quickly, ‘¢Oh, I forgot, ’tain’t free here /”’ 

After examining the satchel and finding that the night gown 
sleeve was safe, Mrs. Nichols took up her line of march for the 
house, herself carrying her umbrella and bandbox, which she 
would not intrust to the care of the negroes, ‘‘ as like enough 


ggers won't 


they’d break the umberell, or squash her caps.” 


‘“‘The ¢rumpery room is plenty good. enough. for.’em,’’ 
thought Corinda, retreating into the kitchen and cutting ¢4ndry 
flourishes in token of her contempt. 

The moment ’Lena came in sight, Mrs. Livingstone ex- 
claimed, ‘Oh, mercy, which is the oldest ?’’ and truly, poor 
‘Lena did present a sorry figure. 


x 
ae 


y 
38 LENA RIVERS. 


Her bomnet, never very handsome or fashionable, had re- 
ceived an ugly crook in front, which neither her grandmother 
nor uncle had noticed, and of which John Jr., would not tell her, 
thinking that the worse she looked the more fun he would have ! 
Her skirts were not very full, and her dress hung straight 
around her, making her of the same bigness from her head to 
her feet. Her shoes, which had been given to her by one of 
the neighbors, were altogether too large, and it was with con- 
siderable difficulty that she could keep them on, but then as 
they were a present, Mrs. Nichols said ‘‘it was a pity not te 
get all the good out of them she could.”’ 

In front of herself and grandmother, walked Mr. Living- 
stone, moody, silent, and cross. Behind them was John Jr., 
mimicking first "Lena’s gait and then his grandmother’s. The 
negroes, convulsed with laughter, darted hither and thither, 
running against and over each other, and finally disappearing, 
some behind the house and some into the kitchen, and all te- 
taining a position from which they could have a full view of the 
proceedings. On the piazza stood Anna and Carrie, the one 
with her handkerchief stuffed in her mouth, and the other with 
her mouth open, astounded at the unlooked-for spectacle. 

‘¢Oh, what shall I do, what shall I doP’”’ groaned Mrs. Liv- 
ingstone. 

<‘Do? Get up and dress yourself, and come and see your 
new relations: that’s what I should do,’’ answered John Jr., 
who, tired of mimicking, had run forward, and now rushed un- 
ceremoniously into his mother’s sleeping-room, leaving the door 
open behind him. 

‘¢John Livingstone, what do you mean?”’ said she, ‘‘ shut 
that door this minute.”’ 

Feigning not to hear her, John Jr. ran back to the piazza, 
which he reached just in time to hear the presentation of his 
bisters. 

‘This is Carrie, and this is Anna,’”’ said Mr. Livingstone, 
pointing to each one as he pronounced her name. 

Marching straight up to Carrie and extending her hand, 
Mrs. Nichols exclaimed, ‘‘ Now I want to know if this is Car’- 
i I’d no idee she was so big. You pretty well, Car’- 
ine?’’ 

Very haughtily Carrie touched the ends of her grandmother’s 
fingers, and with stately gravity replied that she was well. 

Turning next to Anna, Mrs. Nichols continued, ‘‘ And this 
is Anny. Looks weakly ’pears to me, kind of blue around 


ae 3 
ty 
es 


My JP 


F 


* 


LENA RIVERS. 3 


the eyes as though she was fitty. Never have fits, do you, 
dear ?’’ 

“No, ma’am,”’ answered Anne’ struggling hard to keep 
from laughing outright. 

Here Mr. Livingstone inquired for his wife, and on being 
told that she was sick, started for her room. 

««Sick? Is your marm sick?”’ asked Mrs. Nichols of John 
Jr. ‘ Wall, I guess I'll go right in and see if I can’t do some- 
thin’ for her. I’m tolerable good at nussin’.”’ 

Following her son, who did not observe her, she entered un- 
announced into the presence of her elegant daughter-in-law, 
who, with a little shriek, covered her head with the bedclothes. 
Knowing that she meant well, and never dreaming that she was 
intruding, Mrs. Nichols walked up to the bedside, saying, 
‘‘ How de do, ’Tilda? I suppose you know I’m your mother 
—come all the way from Massachusetts to live with you. 
What is the matter? Do you take anything for your sick- 
ness Pp”? 

A groan was Mrs. reNtaia S ied answer. 


2? 


‘¢ She is nervous, and the eae of strangers makes her worse. 
So I reckon you’d better go out for the present,” said Mr, 
Livingstone, who really pitied his wife. Then calling Corinda, 
he bade her show his mother to her room. 

Corinda obeyed, and Mrs. Nichols followed her, asking her 
on the way ‘‘ what her surname was, how old she was, if she 
knew how to read, and if she kadn’t a good deal rather be free 
than to be a slave!’’ to which Corinda replied, that ‘she 
didn’t know what a surzame meant, that she didn’t know how 
old she was, that she didn’t know how to read, and that she 
didn’t know whether she’d like to be free or not, but reckoned 
she shouldn’t.”’ 

‘¢A half-witted gal that,’? thought Mrs. Nichols, “and I 
guess "Tilda don’t set much store by her.”” Then dropping 
into the wooden rocking-chair and laying aside her bonnet, she 
for the first time noticed that ’Lena was not with her, and 
asked Corinda to go for her. 

Corinda complied, leaving the room just in time to stifle a 
laugh, as she saw Mrs. Nichols stoop down to examine the 
hearth-rug, wondering ‘‘ how much it cost when ’twas new.” 

We left ’Lena standing on the steps of the piazza. Ata 
glance she had taken in the whole—had comprehended that 


20 LENA RIVERS. 


there was no affinity whatever between herself and the objects 
around her, and a wild, intense longing filled her heart to be 
once more among her native hills. She had witnessed the 
merriment of the blacks, the scornful curl of Carrie’s lip, the 
half-stppressed ridicule of Anna, when they met her grand- 
mother, and now uncertain of her own reception, she stood be- 
fore her cousins not knowing whether to advance or run away. 
For 2 momen there was an awkward silence, and then John 
Jr., bent on mischief, whispered to Carrie, ‘‘ Look at that 
pinch in her bonnet, and just see her shoes! Big as little sail- 
boats !’’ 

This was too much for ’Lena. She already disliked John 
jJr., and now, flying into a violent passion, she drew off her 
shoes, and hurling them at the young gentleman’s head, fied 
away, away, she knew not, cared not whither, so that she got 
out of sight and hearing. Coming at last to the arbor bridge 
across the brook in the garden, she paused for breath, and 
throwing herself upon a seat, burst into a flood of tears. For 
several minutes she sobbed so loudly that she did not hear the 
sound of footsteps upon the graveled walk. Anna had fol- 
lowed her, partly out of curiosity, and partly out of pity, the 
latter of which preponderated when she saw how bitterly her 
cousin was weeping. Going up to her she said, ‘‘ Don’t cry 
so, "Lena. Look up and talk. It’s Anna, your cousin.” 

’Lena had not yet recovered from her angry fit, and thinking 
Anna only came to tease her, and perhaps again ridicule her 
bonnet, she tore the article from her head, and bending it up 
double, threw it into the stream, which carried it down to the 
fisn-pond, where for two or three hours it furnished amusement 
for some litle negroes, who, calling it a crad, fished for it with 
hook and line! For a moment Anna stood watching the bon- 
net as it sailed along down the scream, thinking it looked better 
there than on its owner’s head, but wondering why ’Lena had 
thrown it away. Then again addressing her cousin, she asked 
why she had done so? 

*< It’s a homely old thing, and I hate it,’? answered ’Lena, 
again bursting into tears. ‘‘I hate everybody, and I wish I 
was dead, or back in Massachusetts, I don’t care which! ’’ 

With her impressions of the ‘‘ Bay State,’’ where her mother 
said folks lived on ‘‘cold beans and codfish,’ Anna thought 
she should prefer the first alternative, but she did not say so ; 
and after a little she tried again to comfort ’Lena, telling her 
‘she liked her, or at least she was going to like her a heap.” 


LENA RIVERS. 43 


* No, you ain’t,’’ returned "Lena. ‘You laughed at me 
and granny both. I saw you do it, and you think I don’t 
know anything, butIdo. I’ve been through Olney’s geography, 
and Colburn’s arithmetic twice !’’ 

This was more than Anna could say. She had no scholar- 
ship of which’to” boast; “but she had a heart brimful of love, 
and in reply to ’Lena’s accusation of having laughed at her, 
she replied, ‘‘I know I laughed, for grandma looked so funny 
I couldn’t help it. But I won’t any more. I pity you because 
your mother is dead, and you never had any father, ma says.’’ 

This made ’Lena cry again, while Anna continued, ‘ Pa’ll 
buy you some new clothes I reckon, and if he don’t, I'll give 
you some of mine, for I’ve got heaps, and they’ll fit you I most 
know. Here’s my mark’’—pointing to a cut upon the door- 
post. ‘‘Here’s mine, and Carrie’s and brother’s. Stand up 
and see if you don’t measure like I do.”’ 

’Lena complied, and to Anna’s great joy they were just of a 
height. : : 

“lm so glad,”’ said she. ‘‘ Now, come to my room and 
Corinda will fix you up mighty nice before mother sees you.”’ 

Hand-in-hand the two girls started for the house, but had 
not gone far when they heard some once calling, ‘‘ Ho, Miss 
"Lena, whar is you? Ole miss done want you.”’ At the same 
time Corinda made her appearance round the corner of the 
piazza. 

«Here, Cora,” said Anna. ‘*Come with r omy room; 
I want you.” 

With a broad grin Corinda followed her young mistress, 
while Lena never having been accustomed to any negro save 
the one with whom many New England children are threatened 
when they cry, clung closer to Anna’s side, occasionally cast- 
ing a timid glance toward the dark-browed girl who followed 
them. In the upper hall they met with Carrie, who in passing 
"Lena held back her dress, as if fearing contamination from a 
contact with her cousin’s plainer garments. Painfuily alive to 
the slightest insult, "Lena reddened, while Anna said, ‘‘ Never 
mind—that’s just like Cad, but nobody cares for her.’’ 

Thus reassured ’Lena followed on, until they reached Anna’s 
room, which they were about to enter, when the shrill voice of 
Mrs. Nichols fell upon their ears, calling, “‘’Leny, ’Leny, 
where upon airth is she ?”’ 

‘‘Let’s go to her first,’’ said ’Lena, and leading the way 
Anna soon ushered her into her grandmother’s room which, 


42 LENA RIVERS. 


child as she was, ’Lena readily saw was far different from the 
handsome apartments of which she had obtained a passing 
lance. 

: But Mrs. Nichols had not thought of this—and was doubt- 
less better satisfied with her present quarters than she would 
have been with tac best furnished chamber in the house. The 
moment her grancdaughter appeared, she exclaimed, ‘«’Leny 
Rivers, where have you been? I was worried to death, for 
fear you might be runnin’ after some of them paltry niggers. 
And ‘now whilst I think on’t, I charge you never to go a nigh 
‘em; I’d no idee they werc such half-naked, nasty critters.”’ 

This prohibition was a novelty to Anna, who spent many 
happy hours with her sable-hued companions, never deeming 
herself the worse for it. Her grandmother’s first remark, how- 
ever, struck her still more forcibly, and she immediately asked, 
‘‘Grandma, what did you call ‘Lena, ‘just now? ‘Lena 
what? ’’ | 

“I called her. by her name, “Lena Kivers. What should 1] 
call her ?’’ returned Mrs. Nichols. 

Whi: Why, I thought her name was ‘Lena Nichols; ma said 
’twas,’’ answered Anna. 

Mrs. Nichols was very sensitive to any slight cast upon 
‘Lena’s birth, and she rather tartly informed Anna, that ‘her 
mother didn’t know everything,’’ adding that ‘‘’Lena’s father 
was Mr. Rivers, and there wasn’t half so much reason why she 
should be called Nichols as there was why Anna should, for 
that was her father’s name, the one by which he was baptized, 
the same day with Nancy Scovandyke, who’s jest his age, only. 
he was born about a quarter past four in the morning, and she 
not till some time in the afternoon ! ”’ 

‘¢But where is Mr. Rivers?’’ asked Anna, more interested 
i him than in the exact minute of her father’s birth. : : 

“The Lord only knows,’’ returned Mrs. Nichols. ‘Little 
girls shouldn’t ask too many questions.” 

This silenced Anna, and satisfied her that there was some 
mystery connected with "Lena. The mention of Nancy Sco- 
vandyke reminded Mrs. Nichols of the dishes which that lady 
had packed away, and anxious to see if they were safe, she 
turned to ’Lena saying, ‘‘I guess we'll have time before dinner 
to unpack my trunks, for I want to know how the crockery 
stood the racket. Anny, you run down and tell your pa to 
fetch ’em up here, that’s a good girl.” 


In her eagerness to know what those weather-beaten boxes 
} 


LENA BIVERS. 43 


contained, Anna forgot her scheme of dressing "Lena, and ran 
down, not to call her father, but the black boy, Adam. It 
took her a long time to find him, and Mrs. Nichols, growing 
impatient, determined so go herself, spite of ’Lena’s entreaties 
that she would stay where she was. Passing down the long 
stairway, and out upon the piazza, she espied a negro girl on 
her hands and knees engaged in cleaning the steps with a cloth. 
Instantly remembering her moj, she greatly lamented that she 
had left it behind—<‘’twould come so handy now,” thought 
sne, but there was no help for it. 

Walking up to the girl, whose name she did not know, she 
said, ‘‘ Sissy, can you tell me where Johz is?” 

Quickly ‘‘Sissy’s”’ ivories became visible, as she replied, 
** We hain*t got any such nigger as John.”’ 

With a silent invective upon negroes in general, and this one 
in particular, Mrs. Nichols choked, stammered, and finally said, 
«<J didn’tjask for a xigger ; I want your master, John!" 

Had the old lady been a Catholic, she would have crossed 
herself for\thus early breaking her promise to Nancy Scovan- 
dyke. As it was, she mentally askec. forgiveness, and as the 
colored git] «didn’t know where marster was,’’ but ‘reckoned 
he had gone somewhar,’’ she turned aside, and seeking her 
son’s room, again entered unannounced. Mrs. Livingstone, 
who was, up and dressed, frowned darkly upon her visitor. 
But Mrsi Nichols did not heed it, and advancing forward, she 
said, ‘*Do you feel any better, ’TildaP I'd keep kinder still 
to-day, and not try to do much, for if you feel any consarned 
ut the housework, I’d just as lief see to’t a little after din- 
ner as not.’’ 

*¢T have all confidence in Milly’s management, and seldom 
trouble myself about the affairs of the kitchen,’”’ answered Mrs. 
‘= Livingstone. 

«Wall, then,”’ returned her mother-in-law, nothing daunted, 
‘¢ Wall, then, mebby you’d like to have me come in and set 
with you a While.”’ 

It would be impossible for us to depict Mrs. Livingstone’s 
look of styprise and anger at this proposition. Her face alter- 
nately flusitsd and then grew pale, until at last she found voice 
to say, ‘‘¥ greatly prefer being alone, madam. It annoys me 
excessivel)\to have any one round.” 

*¢ Considéxable kind o’ touchy,’’ thought Mrs. Nichols, ‘‘ but 
then the pgor Witter is sick, and I shan’t lay it up agin her.’’ 

Taking Out her snuff-box, she offered it to her daughter, tell- 


? 


= 









44, LENA RIVERS. 


ing her that ‘‘like enough ’twould cure her headache.”” Mrs. 
Livingstone’s first impulse was to strike it from her mother’s 
hand, but knowing how unladylike that would be, she restrained 
herself, and turning away her head, replied, “‘ Ugh! no! The 
very sight of it makes me sick.”’ 

«“How you do talk! Wail, I’ve seen folks that it sarved jest 
so; but you’ll get over it. Now there was Nancy Scovandyke 
—did John ever say anything about her? Wall, she couldn’t 
bear snuff till after her disappointment—John told you, I sup- 

ose ?”’ 
«No, madam, my husband has never told me anything con- 
cerning his eastern friends, neither do I wish to hear anything 
of them,’’ returned Mrs. Livingstone, her patience on the point 
of giving out. 

‘‘ Never told you nothin’ about Nancy Scovandyke! If that 
don’t beat all! Why, he was’’— 

She was prevented from finishing the sentence, which would 
undoubtedly have raised a domestic breeze, when Anna came 
to tell her that the trunks were carried to her room. 

<<T’ll come right up then,”’ said she, adding, more to herself 
than any one else, ‘‘If I ain’t mistaken, I’ve got a little paper 
of saffron somewhere, which I mean to steep for "Tilda. Her 
skin looks desput jandissy !’’ 

When Mr. Livingstone again entered his wife’s room, he 
found her in a collapsed state of anger and mortification. 

‘* John Nichols,’ said she, with a strong emphasis on the 
first word, which sounded very much like Jarz, ‘‘do you mean 
to kill me by bringing that vulgar, ignorant thing here, walking 


into my room without knocking—calling me ’7‘/da, and prating _ 


about Nancy somebody ’’—— 

John started. His wife knew nothing of his affaire du ceur 
with Miss Nancy, and for his own peace of mind ’twas desirable 
that she should not. Mentally resolving to give her a few 
hints, he endeavored to conciliate his wife, by saying that he 
knew ‘‘his mother was troublesome, but she must try not to 
notice her oddities.”’ 

‘‘T wonder how I can help it, when she forces herself upon 
me continually,’’ returned his wife. ‘‘I must either keep the 
doors locked, or live in constant terror.”’ 

‘<‘It’s bad, I know,” said he, smoothing her giossy hair, 
‘but then, she’s old, you know. Have youseen ’Lena?” 

‘No, neither do I wish to, if she’s at all like her grand- 
mother,’’ answered Mrs. Livingstone. | 


a 





LENA RIVERS. _ 4% 


«¢She’s handsome,”’ suggested Mr. Livingstone. 

‘<Pshaw ! handsome !”’ repeated his wife, scornfully, while 
he replied, ‘‘ Yes, handsomer than either of our daughters, and 
-with the same advantages, I’ve no doubt she’d surpass them 
both.”’ 

‘¢Those advantages, then, she shall never have,”’ returned 
Mrs. Livingstone, already jealous of a child she had only seen 
at a distance. 

Mr. Livingstone made no reply, but felt that he’d made a 
mistake in praising ’Lena, in whom he began to feel a degree 
of interest for which he could not account. He did not know 
that way down in the depths of his heart, calloused over as it 
was by worldly selfishness, there was yet a tender spot, a linger- 
ing memory of his only sister whom ’Lena so strongly resem- 
bled. If left to himself, he would undoubtedly have taken 
pride in seeing his niece improve, and as it was, he determined 
that she should at home receive the same instruction that his 
daughters did. Perhaps he might not send her away to school. 
He didn’t know how that would be—his wife held the purse, 
and taking refuge behind tnat excuse, he for the present dis- 
missed the subject. (So much for marrying a rich wife and 
nothing else. This we throw in gratis !) 

Meantime grandma had returned to her room, at the door 
of which she found John Jr. and Carrie, both curious to know 
what was in those boxes, one of which had burst open and 
been tied up with a rope. 

‘Come, children,’’ said she, ‘‘don’t stay out there—come 
in.” 

‘‘We prefer remaining here,’’ said Carrie, in a tone and 
manner so nearly resembling her mother, that Mrs. Nichols 
could not refrain from saying, ‘‘ chip of the old block!” 

‘*That’s so, by cracky. You've hit her this time, granny,” 
exclaimed John Jr., snapping his fingers under Carrie’s nose, 
which being rather long, was frequently a subject of his ridi- 
cule. 

«Let me be, John Livingstone,’ said Carrie, while ’Lena 
resolved never again to use the word ‘‘granny,’’ which she 
knew her cousin had taken up on purpose to tease her. 

‘Come, *Lena, catch hold and help me untie this rope. 
I b’lieve the crockery’s in here,’’ said Mrs. Nichols to ’Lena, 
who soon opened the chest, disclosing to view as motley a va: 
riety of articles as is often scen. 

Among the rest was the ‘blue set,”’ a part of her ‘setting 


46 LENA RIVERS. 


out,”’ as his grandmother told John Jr., at the same time dwell- 
ing at length upon their great value. Mistaking Carrie’s look 
of contempt for envy, Mrs. Nichols chucked her under the 
chin, telling’ her ** May be there was something for her, if she 
was a good girl.”’ 

‘‘Now, Cad, turn your nose up clear to the top of your 
head,”’ said John Jr., vastly enjoying his sister’s vexation. 

‘«‘Where does your marm keep her china? I want to put 
this with it,’’ said Mrs. Nichols to Anna, who, uncertain what 
reply to make, looked at Carrie to answer for her. 

‘‘T reckon mother don’t want that old stuff stuck into her 
china-closet,’’ said Carrie, elevating her nose to a height 
wholly satisfactory to John Jr., who unbuttoned one of his 
waistband buttons to give himself room to laugh. 

‘¢ Mortal sakes alive! 1 wonder if she don’t,’ returned 
Mrs. Nichols, beginning to get an inkling of Carrie’s character, 
and the estimation in which her valuables were held. 

‘‘Here’s a nice little cupboard over the fireplace ; I’d put 
them here,’’ said ’Lena. 

«Yes,’’ chimed in John Jr., imitating both his grandmother 
and cousin; ‘‘ yes, granny, put ’em there; the niggers are 
awful critters to steal, and like enough you’d lose ’em if they 
sot in with marm’s!” 

This argument prevailed. ‘Uhe dishes were put away in the 
cupboard, ’Lena thinking that with all his badness John Jr., 
was of some use after all. At last, tired of looking on, Anna 
suggested to ’Lena, who did not seem to be helping matters 
forward much, that she should go and be dressed up as had 
been first proposed. Readily divining her sister’s intention, 
Carrie ran with it to her mother, who sent back word that 
‘‘’Lena must mind her own affairs, and let Anna’s dresses 
alone!” 

This undeserved thrust made ’Lena cry, while Anna de- 
clared ‘‘her mother never said any such thing,’’ which Carrie 
understood as an insinuation that she had told a falsehood. 
Accordingly a quarrel of words ensued between the two sisters, 
which was finally quelled by John Jr., who called to Carrie 
<‘to come down, as she’d got a ietter from Durward Bell- 
moni.’? | 
_. Durward! How that name made ’Lena’s heart leap! Was 

it her Durward—the boy in the cars? She almost hoped not, 
for somehow the idea of Azs writing to Carrie was not a pleasant 
one. At last summoning courage, she asked Anna who he was, 


SS a 





LENA RIVERS. 47 


and was told that he lived in Louisville with his stepfather, Mr. 
Graham, and that Carrie about two months before had mét him 
in Frankfort at Colonel Douglass's, where she was in the habit 
of visiting. ‘* Colonel Douglass,’’ continued Anna, ‘has got a 
right nice little girl, whose name is(Nellie. Then there’s 
Mabel Ross, a sort of cousin, who lives with them part of the 
time. She’s an orphan and a great heiress. You mustn’t tell 
anybody for the world, but I overheard ma say that she wanted 
John to marry Mabel, she’s so rich—but pshaw ! he won’t for 
she’s awful babyish and ugly looking. Captain Atherton is re- 
lated to Nellie, and during the holidays she and Mabel are 
coming up to spend a week, and [ll bet Durward is coming 
too. Cad teased him, and he said may be he would if he 
didn’t go to college this fall. Ill run down and see.” 

Soon returning, she brought the news that it was as she had 
conjectured. Durward, who was now traveling, was not going 
te college until the next fall, and at Christmas he was coming 
to the country with his cousin. 

<‘Oh, I’m so glad,” said Anna. ‘‘ We'll have a time, for 
ma’ll invite them here, of course. Cad thinks a heap of Dur- 
ward, and I want so bad to see him. Don’t you?”’ 

*Lena made no direct reply, for much as she would like to 
see her compagnon du voyage, she felt an unwillingness to meet 
him in the presence of Carrie, who she knew would spare no 
pains to mortify her. Soon forgetting Durward, Anna again 
alluded to her plan of dressing ’Lena, wishing ‘‘ Cad would 
mind her own business.’”’ ‘Then, as a new idea entered her 
head, she brightened up, exclaiming, ‘‘I know what I can do. 
T'll have Corinda curl your hair real pretty. You' ve got beau- 
tiful hair. A heap nicer than my yellow flax.” 

‘Lena offered no remonstrance, and Corinda, wie came at 
the call’ of her young mistress, immediately commenced brush- 
ing and curling the bright, wavy hair which Anna had rightly 
called beautiful. While this was going on, Grandma Nichols, 
who had always adhered to the good old puritanical custom of 
dining exactly at twelve o’clock, began to wonder why dinner 
was not forthsoming. She had breakfasted in Versailles, but 
like many travelers, could not eat much at a hotel, and now 
her stomach clamored loudly for food. Three times had she 
walked back and forth before what she supposed was the 
kitchen, and from which a savory smell of something was issu- 
ing, and at last determining to stop and reconnoitre, she started 
for the dooz. 


4 


The northern reader at all acquainted with southern life, — 
knows well that a kitchen there and a kitchen here are two 
widely different things—ours, particularly in the country, being 
frequently used as a dining-room, while a southern lady would 
almost as soon think of eating in the barn as in her cook-room. 
Like most other planters, Mr. Livingstone’s kitchen was sepa- 
rate and at some little distance from the main building, causing 
grandma to wonder ‘‘ how the poor critters managed to carry 
victuals back and _to when it was cold and slippery.”’ 

When Aunt Milly, who was up to her elbows in dough, saw 
her visitor approaching, she exclaimed, ‘‘ Lor’-a-mighty, if thar 
ain’t ole miss coming straight into this lookin’ hole! Jeff, you 
quit that ar’ pokin’ in dem ashes, and knock Lion out that 
kittle; does you hare? And you, Polly,’’ speaking to a super- 
annuated negress who was sitting near the table, ‘* you just 
shove that ar’ piece of dough, I done save to bake for you and 
me, under your char, whar she. won’t see it.” 

Polly complied, and by this time Mrs. Nichols was at the 
door, surveying the premises, and thinking how differently she’d 
make things look after a little. 

‘‘Does missus want anything?’’ asked Aunt Milly, and 
grandma replied, ‘* Yes, I want to know if ’tain’t nigh about 
noon.”” 

This is a term never used among the blacks, and rolling up 
her white eyes, Aunt Milly answered, «‘ You done got me now, 
sartin, for this chile know nothin’ what you mean more’n the 
deadest critter livin’.’’ 

As well as she could, Mrs. Nichols explained her meaning, 
and Aunt Milly replied, *‘Oh, yes, yes, I know now. ‘Is it 
most dinner time?’ Yes—dinner’ll be done ready in an hour. 
We never has it till two no day, and when we has company not 
till three.”’ imo 

 onfident that she should starve, Mrs. Nichols advanced a 
step or two into the kitchen, whereupon Aunt Milly commenced 
making excuses, saying, ‘ she was gwine to clar up one of 
these days, and then if Thomas Jefferson and Marquis De 
Lafayette didn’t quit thar litterin’ they’d cotch it.” 

Attracted by the clean appearance of Aunt Polly, who, not 
aaving to work, prided herself upon always being neatly 
dressed, Mrs. Nichols walked up to her, and, to use a vulgar 
expression, the two old ladies were soon ‘‘hand-in-glove,” 
Mrs. Nichols informing her of her loss, and how’sorry Nancy 
Scovandyke would feel when she heard of it, and ending by . 


48 LENA RIVERS. 





LENA RIVERS. 49 


giving her tne full particuiars of her husband’s sickness and 
death. In return Aunt Polly said that ‘‘she was born and 
bred along with ole Marster Richards, Miss Matilda’s father, 
and that she, too, had buried a husband.”’ 

With a deep sigh, Mrs. Nichols was about to commiserate 
her, when Aunt Polly cut her short by saying, ‘‘’Twant of no 
kind o’ count, as she never relished him much.’’ 

‘¢Some drunken critter, I warrant,’’? thought Mrs. Nichols, 
at the same time asking what his name was. 

<¢ Jeems,’’ said Aunt Polly. 

This was not definite enough for Mrs. Nichols, who asked 
for the surname, ‘‘ Jeems what? ”’ 

‘¢Jeems Atherton, I reckon, bein’ he ’longed to ole Marstex 
Atherton,’”’ said Polly. 

For a tme Mrs. Nichols had forgotten her hunger, but the 
habit of sixty years was not so easily broken, and she now 
hinted so strongly of the emptiness of her stomach that Aunt 
Polly, emboldened by her familiarity, said, ‘‘I never wait for 
the rest, but have my cup of tea or coffee just when I feel like 
.t, and if missus wouldn’t mina takin’ a bite with a nigger, 
she’s welcome.”’ 

‘¢Say nothin’ about it. We shall all be white in heaven.”” 

“Dat am de trufe,’’ muttered Milly, mentally assigning — * 
Mrs. Nichols a more exalted occupation than that of tu ing» 
hoe-cakes ! “i 

‘Two cups and saucers were forthwith produced, Milly feng 







as a waiter for fear Aunt Polly would leave her seat and so dis- 


close to view the loaf of bread which had been hidden under 
the chair! Some coffee was poured from the pot, which still 
stood on the stove, and then the little negroes, amused with 
the novelty of the thing, ran shouting and yelling that, ‘‘ole 
miss was eatin’ in the kitchen ’long with Lion, Aunt. Polly and 
the other dogs! ”’ 

The coffee being drank, Mrs. Nichols returned to the house, 
thinking ‘‘ what sights of comfort she should take with J/rs. 
Atherton,’’ whom she pronounces to be ‘a likely, clever 
woman as ever was.’’ 

Scarcely had she reached her room when the dinnerbell 
rang, every note falling like an ice-bolt on the heart of ’Lena, 
who, though hungry like her grandmother, still greatly dreaded 
the dinner, fearing her inability to acquit herself creditably. 
Lorinda had finished her hair, and Anna, looking over her 
wardrobe and coming upon the black dress which her father 


50 LENA RIVERS. 


had purchased for her, had insisted upon ’Lena’s wearing u. 
It was of rather more modern make than any of her other 
dresses, and when her toilet was completed, she looked uncom- 
monly well. Still she trembled violently as Anna led her to 
the dining-room. 

Neither Mrs. Nichols nor Mrs. Livingstone had yet made 
their appearance, but the latter soon came languidly in, wrapped 
in a rose-colored shawl, which John Jr., said ‘‘she wore to 
give a delicate tint to her yellow complexion.”” She was in 
the worst of humors, having just been opening her husband’s 
trunk, where she found the numerous articles which had been 
stowed away by Nancy Scovandyke. Very angrily she had 
ordered them removed from her sight, and at this very moment 
the little negroes in the yard were playing with the cracked 
bellows, calling them a ‘‘blubber,”’ and filling them with water 
to see it run out! 

Except through the window, Mrs. Livingstone had not yet 
seen ’Lena, and now dropping into her chair, she never raised 
her eyes until Anna said, ‘‘ Mother, mother, this is ’Lena. 
Look at her.’’ 

Thus importuned, Mrs. Livingstone looked up, and the 
frown with which she was prepared to greet her niece softened 
somewhat, for "Lena was not a child to be looked upon and 
despised. Plain and humble as was her dress, there was some- 
thing in her fine, open face, which at once interested and com- 
manded respect» John Jr. had felt it; his father had felt it; 
and his mother felt it too, but it awoke in her a feeling of bit- 
terness as she thought how the fair young girl before her might 
in time rival her daughters. At a glance, she saw that 'Lena 
was beautiful, and that it was quite as much a beauty of intet- 
lect as of feature and form}, 

«¢ Yes,’ thought she, “husband was right when he said that, 
with the same advantages, she’d soon outstrip her cousins—but 
it shall never be—wever,”” and the white teeth shut firmly to- 
gether, as the cold, proud woman bowed a welcome. 

At this moment Mrs. Nichols appeared. Stimulated by the 
example of ’Lena, she, too, had changed her dress, and now in 
black bombazine, white muslin cap, and shining silk apron, she 
presented so respectable an appearance that her son’s face in- 
stantly brightened. 

«‘Come, mother, we are waiting for you,’’ said he, as she 
stopped on her way to ask Vine, the fly girl, ‘how she did, 
and if it wasn’t hard work to swing them feathers ’’ 


9? 


LENA RIVERS. Si 


Not being very bright, Vine replied with a grin, «Dun 
know, miss.”’ 

Taking her seat next to her son, Mrs. Nichols said when 
offered a plate of soup, ‘‘I don’t often eat broth; besides that, 
I ain’t much hungry, as I’ve just been takin’ a bite with A/iss 
Atherton /’’ 

‘With whom?” asked Mr. Livingstone, John Jr., Carrie, 
and Anna, in the same breath. 

‘¢ With Miss Polly Atherton, that nice old colored lady in 
the kitchen,’’ said Mrs: Nichols. 

The scowl on Mrs. Livingstone’s face darkened visibly, while 
her husband, thinking it time to speak, said, ‘It is my wish, 
mother, that you keep away from the kitchen. It does the 
negroes no good to be meddled with, and besides that, when 
you are hungry the servants will take you something.”’ 

«< Accustomed to eat in the kitchen, probably,’’ muttered 
Carrie, with all the air of a young lady of twenty. 

<‘ Hold on to your nose, Cad,’’ whispered John Jr., thereby 
attracting his sister’s attention to himself. 

By this time the soup was removed, and a fine large turkey 
appeared. 

«‘What a noble great feller. Gobbler, ain’t it?’’ asked 
Mrs. Nichols, touching the turkey with the knife. 

John Jr. roared, and was ordered from the table by his 
father, while "Lena, who stepped on her grandmother’s toes to 
keep her from talking, was told by that lady ‘‘ to keep her feet 
still.’’ Along with the dessert came ice-cream, which Mrs. 
Nichols had never before tasted, and now-fancying that she 
was dreadfully burned, she quickly deposited her first mouthful 
upon her plate. 

«‘What’s the matter, grandma? Can’t you eat it?” asked 
Anna. 

‘¢- Yes, I kin eat it, but I don’t hanker arter it,’’ answered 
her grandmother, pushing the plate aside. 

Dinner being over, Mrs. Nichols returned to her room, but 
soon growing weary, she started out to view the premises 
Coming suddenly upon a group of young negroes, she discov- 
ered her bellows, the water dripping from the nose, while a 
little farther’on she espied ’Lena’s bonnet, which the negroes 
had at last succeeded in catching, and which, wet as it was, 
now adorned ih< head of Thomas Jefferson! In a tricethe old 
Jady’s principles were forgotten, and she cuffed the negroes with 
a right good will, hitting Jeff the hardest, and, as a matter of 


59 LENA RIVERS. 


course, making him yell the loudest. Out came Aunt Milly, 
‘scolding and muttering about ‘‘ white folks tendin’ to thar own 
business,’’ and reversing her decision with regard to Mrs. 
Nichols’ position in the next world. Cuil, the watch-dog, 
whose kennel was close by, set up a tremendous howling, 
while John Jr., always on hand, danced a jig to the sound of 
the direfui music. 

‘¢For heaven’s sake, husband, go out and see what’s the 
matter,’’ said Mrs. Livingstone, slightly alarmed at the unusual 
noise. 

John complied, and reached the spot just in time to catch ¢ 
glimpse of John Jr.’s heels as he gave the finishing touch te 
his exploit, while Mrs. Nichols, highly incensed, marched from 
the field of battle with the bonnet and bellows, thinking ‘ if 
them niggers was only her’n they’d catch it!” 





CHAPTER VII. 
MALCOLM EVERETT. 


Ir would be tiresome both to ourselves and our readers, were 
we to enumerate the many mortifications which boc Mr. and 
Mrs. Livingstone were compelled to endure from tneir mother, 
who gradually came to understand her true position in the 
family. One by one her ideas of teaching them economy were 
given up, as was also all hopes of ever being at aii fay riliar with 
her daughter, whom, at her son’s request, she haf ceased to 
call ** Tilda.” 

‘«¢ Mebby you want me to say Miss Livingstone, said she, 
“‘but I shan’t. Pil call her Miss Nichols, or M tilda, just 
which she chooses.”’ 

Of course Mrs. Livingstone chose the latter, wincing though. 
every time she heard it. Dreading a scene which he knew was 
sure to follow a disclosure of his engagement with Miss Nancy, 
Mr. Livingstone had requested his mother to keep it ftom his 
wife, and she, appreciating his motive, promised secre cy, la- 
menting the while the ill-fortune which had prevented Nancy 
from being her daughter-in-law, and dwelling frequently upon 
the comfort she should take were Nancy there in Mati\da’s 
place. On the whole, however, she was tolerably conten’¢d ; 
the novelty of Kentucky life pleased her, and at last, like 1 "st 


LENA RIVERS. 58 


northern people, she fell in with the habits of those around her. 
Still her Massachusetts friends were not forgotten, and many a 
letter, wonderful for its composition and orthography, found its 
way to Nancy Scovandyke, who wrote m return that ‘‘ some 
time or other she should surely visit Kentucky,’’ asking further 
if the ‘‘ big bugs’’ didn’t prefer eastern teachers for their chil- 
dren, and hinting at her desire to engage in that capacity when 
she came south ! 

«Now, that’s the very thing,”’ exclaimed Mrs. Nichois, fold- 
ing the letter (directed wrong side up) and resuming her knit- 
ting. <‘‘Nancy’s larnin’ is plenty good enough to teach Car’- 
line and Anny, and I mean to speak to John about it right 
away.” 

cl] wouldn’t do any such thing,’’ said ’Lena, seeing at a 
glance how such a proposal would be received. 

‘¢Why not?’ asked Mrs. Nichols, and ’Lena replied, ‘I 
don’t think Nancy would suit Aunt Livingstone at all, and be- 
sides that, they’ve engaged a teacher, a’ Mr. Everett, and ex- 
pect him next week.’’ 

‘sYou don’t say So ?”’? returned Mrs. Nichols. ‘*I nevel 
hearn a word on’t. Where ‘bouts is he from, and how muct. 
do they give him a week ?”’ 

The latter "Lena knew nothing about, but she replied that 
«¢ she believed he was from Rockford, a village near Rochester, 
New York.” 

«‘Why, Nancy Scovandyke’s sister lives there. I wouldn’t 
wonder if he knew her.”’ 

«‘ Very likely,” returned "Lena, catching her bonnet and 
aurrying off to ride with Captain Atherton and Anna. 

As'we have once before observed, Anna was a great favorite 
with the captain, who had petted her until John Jr. teased her 
unmercifully, calling him her grey-haired lover, and the like. 
This made Anna exceedingly sensitive, and now when the cap- 
tain called for her to ride, as he frequently did, she refused to 
go unless the invitation was also extended to’Lena, who in this 
way got many a pleasant ride around the country. She was 
fast learning to like Kentucky, and would have been very 
happy had her aunt and Carrie been a little more gracious, 
But the former seldom spoke to ner, and the latter only to ridi- 
¢u.2 something which she said or did. 

Many and amusing were the disputes between the two gitrs 
concerning their peculiarities of speech, Carrie bidding ’Lena 
«¢ quit her Yankee habit of eternally guessing,’’ and ’Lena re- 


99 


54 LENA RIVERS. 


torting that **she would when Carrie stopped her everlasting 
vreckoning.’’ ‘To avoid the remarks of the neighbors, who she 
knew were watching her narrowly, Mrs. Livingstone had pur- 
chased ’Lena two or three dresses, which, though greatly in- 
ferior to those worn by Carrie and Anna, were still fashionably 
rade, and so much improved ’Lena’s looks, that her manners 
improved, also, for what child does not appear to better ad- 
vantage when conscious of looking well? More than once had 
her uncle’s hand rested for a moment on her brown curls, while 
his thoughts were traversing the past, and in fancy his fingers 
were again straying among the silken locks now resting in the 
grave. It would seem as if the mother from her coffin was 
pleading for her child, for all the better nature of Mr. Living- 
stone was aroused; and when he secured the services of Mr. 
Everett, who was highly recommended both as a scholar and 
gentleman, he determined that ’Lena should share the same 
advantages with his daughters. To this Mrs. Livingstone made 
no serious objection, for as Mr. Everett would teach in the 
house, it would not do to debar ’Lena from the privilege of at- 
tending his school; and as the highest position to which she 
could aspire was to be governess in some private family, she felt 
willing, she said, that she should have a chance of acquiring 
the common branches. 

And now Mr. Everett was daily expected. Anna, who had 
no fondness for books, greatly dreaded his arrival, thinking 
within herself how many pranks she’d play off upon him- 
provided ’Lena would lend a helping hand, which she muck 
doubted. John Jr., too, who for a time, at least, was to be 
placed under Mr. Everett’s instruction, felt in no wise eager for 
his arrival, fearing, as he told "Lena that ‘‘ between the ‘old 
man’ and the tutor, he would be kept a little too straight for a 
gentleman of his habits; ’’ and it was with no particular emo- 
tions of pleasure that he and Anna saw the stage stop before 
the gate one pleasant morning toward the middie of November. 
Running to one of the front windows, Carrie, ’Lena, and Anna 
watched their new teacher, each after her own fashion com- 
menting upon his appearance. 

‘““Ugh,”’ exclaimed Anna, ‘“‘ what a green, boyish looking 
thing! I reckon nobody’s going to be afraid of him.”’ 

“fT say he’s real handsome,” said Carrie, who being thirteen 
years of age, had already, in her own mind, practiced teri Z 2 
little coquetry upon the stranger. 

“¢] like him,”’ was ’Lena’s brief remark. 


ea 


LENA RIVERS. 55 


Mr. Everett was a pale, intellectual looking man, scarcely 
twenty years of age, and appearing still younger so that Anna 
was not wholly wrong when she called him boyish. Still there 
was in his large black eye a firmness and decision which be- 
spoke the man strong within him, and which put to flight all 
of Anna’s preconceived notions of rebellion. With the ut- 
most composure he returned Mrs. Livingstone’s greeting, and 
the proud lady half bit her lip with vexation as she saw how 
little he seemed awed by her presence. 

Malcolm Everett was not one to acknowledge superiority 
where there was none, and though ever polite toward Mrs. 
Livingstone, there was something in his manner which forbade 
her treating him as aught save an equal. He was not to be 
trampled down, and for once in her life Mrs. Livingstone had 
found a person who would neither cringe to her nor flatter. The 
children were not presented to him until dinner time, when, 
with the air of a young desperado, John Jr. marched into the 
dining-room, eyeing his teacher askance, calculating his 
strength, and returning his greeting with a simple nod. Mr. 
Mverett scanned him from head to foot, and then turned to 
Carrie half smiling at the great dignity which she assumed. 
With ’Lena and Anna he seemed better pleased, hoiding their 
hands and smiling down upon them through rows of teeth 
which Anna pronounced the whitest she had ever seen. 

Mr. Livingstone was not at home, and when his mother ap- 
peared, Mrs. Livingstone did not think proper to introduce 
her. But if by this omission she thought to keep the old lady 
silent, she was mistaken, for the moment Mrs. Nichols was 
seated, she commenced with, ‘‘ Your name is Everett, ] 
b’lieve ?”’ 

«¢ Yes, ma’am,’’ said he, bowing very gracefully toward her. 

‘«¢ Any kin to the governor that was ?’”’ 

‘¢ No, ma’am, none whatever,’’ and the white teeth became 
slightly visible for a moment, but soon disappeared. 

<¢ You are from Rockford, ’Lena tells me?’”’ 

“Yes, ma’am. Have you friends there ?”’ 

«‘VYes—or that is, Nancy Scovandyke’s sister, Betsy Seo- 
vandyke that used to be, lives there. May be you know her. 
Her name is Bacon—Betsy Bacon. She’s a widder and keeps 
boarders.”’ 

“¢ Ah,’’ said he, the teeth this time becoming wholly visible, 
«‘T’ve heard of Mrs. Bacon, but have not the honor of her ac< 
quaintance. You are from the east, I perceive.” 


56 LENA RIVERS. 


‘Law, now! how did you know that ?”’ asked Mrs. Nichols. 
while Mr. Everett answered, ‘‘J guessed at it,’’ with a peculiag 
emphasis on the word guessed, which led ’Lena to think he 
had used it purposely and not from habit. 

Mr. Everett possessed in a remarkable de uree the faculty oi 
making those around him both respect and like him, and ere 
six weeks had passed, he had won the love of all his pupils. 
Even John Jr. was greatly improved, and Carrie seemed sud- 
denly reawakened into a thirst for knowledge, deeming no task 
too long, and no amount of study too hard, if it won the com- 
mendation of her teacher. *Lena, who committed to memory 
with great ease, and who consequently did not deserve so much 
credit for her always perfect lessons, seldom received a word of 
praise, while poor Anna, notoriously lazy when books were 
concerned, cried almost every day, because as she said, ‘* Mr. 
Everett didn’t like her as he did the rest, else why did he look 
at her so much, watching her all the while, and keeping her 
after school to get her lessons over, when he knew how she 
hated them.”’ 

Once Mrs. Livingstone ventured to remonstrate, telling him 
that Anna was very sensitive, and required altogether different 
treatment from Carrie. ‘‘She thinks you dislike her,’’ said 
she, ‘‘ arid while she retains this impression, she will do noth- 
ing as far as learning is concerned ; so if you do not like her, 
try and make her think you do!”’ 7 

There was a peculiar look in Mr. Everett’s dark eyes as he 
answered, ‘* You may think it strange, Mrs. Livingstone, but 
of all my pupils I love Anna the best! I knowI find more 
fault with her, and am perhaps more severe with her than with 
the rest, but it’s because I would make her what I wish her to 
be. Pardon me, madam, but Anna does not possess the same 
amount of intellect with her cousin or sister, but bv proper 
culture she will make a fine, intelligent woman.”’ 

Mrs. Livingstone hardly relished being told that one child 
was inferior to the other, but she could not well help herself— 
Mr. Everett would say what he pleased—and thus the confer- 
ence ended. From that time Mr. Everett was exceedingly 
kind to Anna, wiping away the tears which invariably came 
when told that she must stay with him in the schoolroom after 
the rest were gone; then, instead of seating himself in rigid 
silence at a distance until her task was learned, he would sit 
by her side, occasionally smoothing her long curls and speak. 
ing encouragingly to her as she pored over some hard rule of 


LENA RIVERS. 59 


grammar, er puzzled her brains with some difficult problem in 
Colburn. Ere long the result of all this became manifest. 
Anna grew fonder of her books, more ready to learn, and— 
more willing to be kept after school : 

Ah, little did Mrs. Livingstone think what she was doing 
when she bade young Malcolm Everett make her warm-hearted, 
impulsive daughter ¢/iv& he liked her ! 





€ HAPTER VI. 
SCHEMING. 


‘© MoTHER, where’s ’Lena’s dress? Hasn’t she got anyP” 
asked Anna, one morning, about two weeks before Christmas, 
as she bent over a promiscuous pile of merinoes, delaines. and 
plaid silks, her own and Carrie’s dresses for the coming holi- 
days. ‘Say, mother, didn’t you buy ’Lena any? ’”’ 

Thus interrogated, Mrs. Livingstone replied, ‘I wonder if 
you think I’m made of money! ’Lena is indebted to me now 
for more than she can ever pay. As long as I give her a home 
and am at so much expense in educating her, she of course 
can’t expect me to dress her as I do you. ‘There’s Carrie’s 
brown delaine and your blue one, which I intend to have made 
over for her, and she ought to be satisfied with that, for they 
are much better than anything she had when she came here.”’ 

And the lady glanced toward the spot where ’Lena sat, ad- 
miring the new things, in which she had no share, and longing 
to ask the question which Anna had asked for her, and which 
had now been answered. John Jr., who was present and who 
~ knew that Mr. Everett had been engaged to teach in the family 
long before it was known that ’Lena was coming, now said to 
his cousin, who arose to leave, ‘‘ Yes, ’Lena, mother’s a model 
of generosity, and you’ll never be able to repay her for her 
kindness in allowing you to wear the girls’ old duds, which 
would otherwise be given to the blacks, and in permitting you 
to recite to Mr. Everett, who, of course, was hired on your ac- 
count.”” 

The slamming together of the door as ’Lena left the room 
brought the young gentleman’s remarks to a close, and wishing 
to escape the lecture which he saw was preparing for him, he, 
too, made his exit. 


58 LENA RIVERS. 


Christmas was coming, and with it. Durward Bellmont, and 
about his coming Mrs. Livingstone felt some little anxiety. 
Always scheming, and always looking ahead, she was expect- 
ing great results from this visit. Durward was not only im- 
mensely wealthy, but was also descended on his father’s side 
from one of England’s noblemen. Altogether he was, she 
thought, a ‘‘ decided catch,’’ and though he was now only six- 
teen, while Carrie was but thirteen, lifelong impressions had 
been made at even an earlier period, and Mrs. Livingstone re- 
‘solved that her pretty daughter should at least have all the ad- 
vantages of dress with which to set off her charms. Concern- 
ing Anna’s appearance she cared less, for she had but little 
hope of her, unless, indeed—but ’twas too soon to think of that 
—she would wait, and perhaps in good time ’twould all come 
round naturally and as a matter of course. So she encouraged 
her daughter’s intimacy with Captain Atherton, who, until Mal- 
colm Everett appeared, was in Anna’s estimation the best man 
living. Now, however, she made an exception in favor of her 
teacher, ‘‘who,’’ as she told the captain, ‘‘ neither wore false 
teeth, nor kept in his pocket a pair of specks, to be slyly used 
when he fancied no one saw him.”’ 

Captain Atherton coughed, colored, laughed,and saying that 
«¢ Mr. Everett was a micish kind of a doy,” swore eternal en- 
mity toward him, and under the mask of friendship—watched ! 

“leven years before, when Anna was a baby, Mrs. Livingstone 

had playfully told the captain, who was one day deploring his 
want of a wife, that if he would wait he should have her 
daughter. ‘To this he agreed, and the circumstance, trivial as 
it was, made a more than ordinary impression upon his mind ; 
and though he as yet had no definite idea that the promise 
would ever be fulfilled, the little girl was to him an object of 
uncommon interest. Mrs. Livingstone knew this, and when- 
ever Anna’s future prospects were the subject of her medita- 
tions, she generally fell back upon that fact as an item not to be 
despised. 

Now, however, her thoughts were turned into another and 
widely different channel. Christmas week was to be spent by 
Durward Bellmont partly at Captain Atherton’s and partly at 
her own house, and as Mrs. Livingstone was not ignorant of the 
effect a becoming dress has upon a pretty face, she determined 
that Carrie should, at least, have that advantage. Anna, too, 
was to fare like her sister, while no thought was bestowed upon 
poor Lena’s wardrobe, until her husband, who accompanied 


LENA RIVERS. 59 


her io Frankfort, suggested that a certain pattern, which he 
fancied would be becoming to ’Lena should be purchased. 

With an angry scowl, Mrs. Livingstone muttered something 
about ‘‘ spending so much money for other folks’ young ones.’’ 
Then remembering the old delaines, and knowing by the tone 
of her husband’s voice that he was in earnest, she quickly re 
joined, <‘ Why, ’Lena’s got two new dresses at home.”’ 

Never doubting his wife’s word, Mr. Livingstone was satis- 
fied, and nothing more was said upon the subject. Business of 
importance made it necessary for him to go for a few weeks to 
New Orleans, and he was now on his way thither, his wife 
having accompanied him as far as Frankfort, where he took the 
boat, while she returned home. When ’Lena left the room 
after learning that she had no part in the mass of Christmas 
finery, she repaired to the arbor bridge, where she had wept 
so bitterly on the first day of her arrival, and which was now 
her favorite resort. for a time she sat watching the leaping 
waters, swollen by . winter rains, and wondering if it were 
not possible that they started at first from the pebbly spring 
which gushed so cool and clear from the mountain-side near her 
old New England home. This reminded her of where and 
what she was now—a dependent on the bounty of those who — 
wished her away, and who almost every day of her life made 
her feel it so keenly, too. Not one among them loved her ex- 
cept Anna, and would not her affection change as they grew 
older? ‘Then her thoughts took another direction. Durward 

Bellmont was coming—but did she wish to see him? Could 
she bear the sneering remarks which she knew Carrie would 
make concerning herself? And how would he be affected by 
them? Would he ask her of her father? and if so, what had 
she to say ? 

Many a time had she tried to penetrate the dark mystery of 
her birth, but her grandmother was wholly noncommittal. 
Once, too, when her uncle seemed kinder than usual, she had 
ventured to ask him of her father, and with a frown he had 
replied, that ‘‘the least she knew of him the better!’’ Still 
*Lena felt sure that he was a good man, and that some time or 
other she would find him. 

All day long the clouds had been threatening rain, wnicn be- 
gan to fall soon after ’Lena entered the arbor, but so absorbed 
was she in her own thoughts, that she did not observe it until 
her clothes were perfectly dampened ; then starting up, she re: 
paired to the house. For several days she 4ad not been well, 


60 LENA BIVEES. 


and this exposure brought on a severe cold, which connned hes 
to her room for nearly two weeks. Meantime the dressmaking 
process went on, Anna keeping ’Lena constantly apprised of its 
progress, and occasionally wearing in some article for her in- 
“spection. This reminded ’Lena of her own wardrobe, and 
knowing that it would not be attended to while she was sick, 
she made such haste to be well, that on Thursday at tea-time 
she took her accustomed seat at the table. After supper she 
lingered awhile in the parlor, hoping something would be said. 
but she waited in vain, and was about leaving, when a few 
words spoken by Carrie in an adjoining room caught her ear 
and arrested her attention. A 

They were—‘‘And so ’Lena came down to-night. I dare 
say she thinks you’ll set Miss Simpson at work upon my old 
delaine.’’ 

«‘ Perhaps so,’’ returned Mrs. Livingstone, *‘ but I don’t see 
how Miss Simpson can do it, unless you put off having that silk 
apron embroidered.” 

‘<I shan’t do any such thing,”’ said Carrie, glad of an excuse 
to keep *Lena out of the way. ‘‘ What matter is it if she don’t 
come down when the company are here? I’d rather she 
wouldn’t, for she’s so green and awkward, and Durward is so 
fastidious in such matters, that I’d rather he wouldn’t know 
she’s a relative of ours! I know he’d tell his mother, and they 
say she is very particular about his associates.’’ 


*Lena’s first impulse was to defy her cousin to her face—to ~ 


tell her she had seen Durward Bellmont, and that he didn’t 
laugh at her either. But her next thought was calmer and more 
rational. Possibly under Carrie’s influence he might make fun 
of her, and resolving on no condition whatever to make herself 
visible while he was in the house, she returned to her room, and 
throwing herself upon the bed, wept until she fell asleep. 

‘‘ When is Miss Simpson going to fix ’"Lena’s dress?’? asked 
Anna, as day after day passed, and nothing was said of the 
brown delaine. 

For an instant Miss Simpson’s nimble fingers were still, as 
she awaited the answer to a question which had occurred to her 
several times. She was a kind-hearted, intelligent girl, and at 
a glance had seen how matters stood. She, too, was an or- 
phan, and her sympathies were all enlisted in behalf of the neg- 
lected ’Lena. She had heard from Anna of the brown delaine, 
and in her own mind she had determined that it should he fitted 
with the utmost taste of which she was capable. 


~ 


¥ 


LENA RIVERS. 67 


Her speculations, however, were brought to a close by Mrs. 
Livingstone’s saying in reply to Anna, that ‘‘’Lena seemed so 
wholly uninterested, and cared so little about seeing the com- 
pany, she had decided not to have the dress fixed until after 
Christmas week.” 

The fiery expression of two large, glittering eyes, which at 
that moment peered in at the door, convinced Miss Simpson 
that her employer had hardly told the truth, and she secretly 
determined that ’Lena should have the dress whether she would 
or not. Accordingly, the next time she and Anna were alone, 
she asked her for the delaine, entrusting her secret to Anna, 
who, thinking no harm, promised to keep it from her mother. 
But to get ’Lena fitted was a more difficult matter. Her spirit 
was roused, and for a time she resisted their combined efforts. 
At last, however, she yielded, and by working late at night in 
her own room, Miss Simpson managed to finish the dress, in 
which ’Lena really looked better than did either of her cousins 
in their garments of far richer materials. Still she was resolved 
not to go down, and Anna, fearing what her mother might say, 
dared not urge her very strongly, hoping, though, that ‘‘some- 
thing would turn up.” 


7 * * % * * 


Durward Bellmont, Nellie Douglass, and Mabel Ross had ar- 
rived at Captain Atherton’s. Mrs. Livingstone and her daugh- 
ters had called upon them, inviting them to spend a few days 
at Maple Grove, where they were to meet some other young 
people ‘‘selected from the wealthiest families in the neighbor- 
hood,’’ Mrs. Livingstone said, at the same time patting the 
sallow cheek of Mabel, whose reputed hundred thousand she 
intended should one day increase the importance of her own 
family. 

az he invitation was accepted—the day had arrived, the 
guests were momentarily expected, and Carrie, before the long 
mirror, was admiring herself, alternately frowning upon John 
Jr., who was mimicking her ‘“‘airs,’’ and scolding Anna for 
fretting because "Lena could not be induced to join them. 
Finding that her niece was resolved not to appear, Mrs. Liv- 
ingstone, for looks’ sake, had changed her tactics, saying, 
‘«’Lena could come down if she chose—she was sure there was 
nothing to prevent.’’ 

Knowing this, Anna had exhausted all her powers of elo- 
quence upon her cousin. But she still remained inexorable 


62; LENA RIVERS. 


greatly to the astonishment of her grandmother who for several 
days had been suffering from a rheumatic affection, notwith- 
standing which she ‘‘meant to hobble down if possible, for ’* 
said she, ‘‘I want to see this Durward Bellmont. Matilda says 
he’s got JVod/e blood in him. I used to know a family of 
Nobles in Massachusetts, and I think like as not he’s some 
kin!’’ 

Carrie, to whom this remark was made, communicated it to 
her mother, who forthwith repaired to Mrs. Nichols’ room, tell- 
ing her ‘that ’twas a child’s party,’”’ and hinting pretty 
strongly that she was neither wanted nor expected in the parlor, 
and would confer a great favor by keeping aloof. 

‘¢ Wall, wall,’’ said Mrs. Nichols, who had learned to dread 
her daughter’s displeasure, *‘I’d as lief stay up here as not, 
but I do wart ’Lenato jine’em, She’s young and would en- 
joy it.” 

: Without a word of answer Mrs. Livingstone walked away, 
Jeaving "Lena more determined than ever not to go down. 
When the evening at last arrived, Anna insisted so strongly 
upon her wearing the delaine, for fear of what might happen, 
that ’Lena consented, curling her hair with great care, and feel- 
ing a momentary thrill of pride as she saw how well she looked. 

‘¢ When we get nicely to enjoying ourselves,’’ said Anna, 
«¢you come down and look through the glass door, for I do 
want you to see Durward, he’s so handsome—but there’s the 
carriage—I must go;”’ and away ran Anna down the stairs, 
while Lena flew to one of the front windows to see the com- 
pany as they rode up. 

First came Captain Atherton’s carriage, and in it the captain 
and his maiden sister, together with a pale, sickly-looking girl, 
whom ’Lena knew to be Mabel Ross. Behind them rode Dur- 
ward Bellmont, and at his side, on a spirited little pony was an- 
other girl, thirteen or fourteen years of age, but in her long 
riding-dress looking older, because taller. ‘Lena readily 
guessed that this was Nellie Dougiass, and at a glance she 
recognized the Durward of the cars—grown handsomer and 
taller since then, she thought. With a nimbie bound he leaped 
from his saddle, kissing his hand to Carrie, who with her sun- 
niest smile ran past him to welcome Nellie. A pang, not of 
jealousy, but of an undefined something, shot through ’Lena’s 
heart, and dropping the heavy curtain, she turned away, while 
the tears gathered thickly in her large brown eyes. 

‘¢ Where’s’Lena ?”’ asked Captain Atherton, of Anna, warm- 





LENA RIVERS. 83 


tng his red fingers before the blazing grate, and looking round 
upon the group of girls gathered near. 

Glancing at her mother, Anna replied, ‘‘ She says she don’t | 
want to come down.”’ 

<¢ Bashful,’’ returned the captain, while Nellie Douglass 
asked, ‘‘ who ’Lena was,’’ at the same time returning the Aznch 
which John Jr. had slyly given her as a mode of showing his 
preference, for Nellie wes his favorite. 

Fearful of Anna’sreply, Mrs. Livingstone answered, carelessly, 
<¢«She’s the child of cne of Mr. Livingstone’s poor relations, 
and we’ve taken her awhile out of charity.” 

At any other time John Jr. would doubtless have questioned 
his mother’s word, but now so engrossed was he with the 
merry, hoydenish Nellie, that he scarcely heard her remark, oz 
noticed the absence of "Lena. With the exception of his 
cousin, Nellic was the only girl whom John Jr. could endure— 
‘the rest,”’ he said, ‘‘ were so stuck up and affected.” 

For Mabel Ross, he seemed to have a particulai aversion. 
Not because she was so very disagreeable, but because his 
mother continually reminded him of what she hoped would one 
day be, ‘‘and this,’’ he said, ‘‘ was enough to make a ‘ feller’ 
hate a girl.’? So without considering that Mabel was not to 
blame, he ridiculed her unmercifully, calling her ‘‘a bundle of 
medicine,’” and making fun of her thin, sallow face, which 
zeally appeared to great disadvantage when contrasted with 
Nellie’s bright eyes and round, rosy cheeks. 

When the guests were all assembled, Carrie, not knowing 
whether Durward Bellmont would relish plays, seated herself 
demurely upon the sofa, prepared to act the dignified young 
lady, or any other character she might think necessary. 

“Get up, Cad,’’ said John Jr. ‘‘Nobody’s going to act 
like they were at a funeral ; get up, and let’s play something.”’ 

As the rest seemed to be similarly inclined, Carrie arose, and 
ere long the joyous shouts reached ’Lena, making her half wish 
that she, too, was there. Remembering Anna’s suggestion of 
looking through the glass door she stole softly down the stairs, 
and stationing herself behind the door, looked in on the scene. 
Mr. Everett, usually so dignified, had joined in the game, 
claiming *‘ forfeits’’ from Anna more frequently than was con- 
sidered at all necessary by the captain, who for a time looked 
jealously on, and then declaring himself as young as any of 
them, joined them with a right good will. 

§ Blind man’s > buff, ’? was next proposed, and 'Lena’s heart 


64 LENA RIVERS. 


leaped up, for that was her favorite game. John Jr. was tirs? 
blinded, but he caught them so easily that all declared he could 
see, and loud were the calls for Durward to take his place. This 
he willingly did, and whether he could see or not, he sufferet 
them to pass directly under his hands, thus giving entire satis 
faction. On account of the heat of the rooms, Anna, on pass. 
ing the glass door, threw it open, and the next time Durward 
came round he marched directly into the hall, seizing ’Lena, 
who was trying to hide. 

Feeling her long curls, he exclaimed, ‘‘Anna, you are 
caught.”’ 

<‘No, I ain’t Anna; let me go, 
escape. 

This brought all the girls to the spot, while Durward, snatch- 
ing the muffler from his eyes, looked down with astonishment 
upon the trembling "Lena, who would have escaped had she 
not Deen sv svcurely hemmed in. 

«¢ Ain’t you ashamed, ’Lena, to be peeking ?’’ asked Carrie, 
while Durward repeated —* ’ Lena. /’Lena! I’ve seen her be- 
fore in the cars between Springfield and Albany; but how came 
she here? ”’ 

‘¢She lives here—she’s our cousin,’’ said Anna, notwith- 
standing the twitch given to her sleeve by Carrie, who did not 
care to have the relationship exposed. 

«‘ Your cousin,’ said Durward, ‘and where’s the old lady 
who was with her ?”’ 

«‘The one she called granny ?”’ asked John Jr., on purpose 
to rouse up his fiery little cousin. 

<¢No, I don’t call her grazny, neither—I'’ve quit it,’’ said 
"Lena, angrily, adding, as a sly hit at Kentucky talk, “she’s 
up stars, sick with the rheumatism.”’ 

<¢Good,’’ said Durward, ‘“‘ but why are you not down here 
with us P”’ 

«‘T didn’t want to come,’’ was her reply; and Durward, 
leading her into the parlor, continued, ‘‘ but now that you are 
here, you must stay.”’ 

‘¢ Pretty, isn’t she,’’ said Nellie, as the full blaze of the 
chandelier fell upon ’Lena. 

“¢ Rath-er,’’ was Carrie’s hesitating reply. 

She felt annoyed that *Lena should be iu the parlor, and 
provoked that Durward should notice her in any way, and at 
the first opportunity she told him ‘‘ how mych she both troubled 
and mortified them, by her vulgarity and obstinacy,’ adding 


9? 


said ’Lena, struggling to 


LENA RIVERS. €5 


that ‘*she had a most violent temper.’’ From Nellie she had 
learned that Durward particularly disliked passionate girls, and 
for this reason she strove to give him the impression that ’Lena 
was such an one. Once or twice she fancied him half inclined 
to disbelieve her, as he saw how readily ’Lena joined in their 
amusements, and how good-humoredly she bore John Jr.’s teas- 
img, and then she hoped something would occ ir to prove her 
words true. Her wish was gratified. 

The next day was dark and stormy, confining the young peo- 
ple to the house. About ten o’clock the negro who had been 
to the post office returned, bringing letters for the family, among 
which was one for ’Lena, so curious in its shape and superscrip- 
t:on, that even the negro grinned as he handed it out. ’*Lena 
was not then present, and Carrie, taking the letter, exclaimed, 
‘‘Now if this isn’t the last specimen from Yankeedom. Just 
listen,’’—and she spelled out the direction—‘‘ Zo JZis HELL- 
ENY Rivers, state of kentucky, county of woodford, Dorsey 
post ofjis, care of Mis nichals.”’ 

Unobserved by any one, ’Lena had entered the parlor in 
time to hear every word, and when Carrie, chancing to espy 
her, held out the letter, saying, ‘‘ Here Helleny, I guess this 
came from down east,’’ she darted forward, and striking the 
letter from Carrie’s hands stamped upon it with her foot, de- 
claring ‘*she’d never open it in the world,’’ and saying “they 
might do what they pleased with it for all of her.”’ 

‘¢ Read it—may we read it?’’ eagerly asked Carrie, delighted 
to see "Lena doing such justice to her reputation. 

*< Yes, read it!’’ almost screamed ’Lena, and before any one 
could interpose a word, Carrie had broken the seal and com- 
menced reading, announcing, first, that it came sth §¢ Joel 
Slocum!’ It was as follows: ? 


‘¢Dear Helleny, mebby you’ll wonder when you see a letter 
from me, but I’ll be hanged if I can help ’ritin’, I am so con- 
founded lonesome now you are gone, tuat I dun know nothing 
what to do with myself. So I set on the great rock where 
the saxefax grows, and think, ané think, till it seems ’s ef my 
head would bust open. Wall, how do you git along down 
amongst them heathenish Kentucks & niggers? I s’pose there 
ain’t no great difference between ’em, is there? When I git a 
little more larnin’, I b’lieve I’ll come down there to keep school. 
O, I forgot to teil you that our old line black cow has got a calf 
~-the prettiest little critter—Dad has gin her to me, and I call 


wd LENA RIVERS. 


her Helleny, I do, I swow! And when she capers round she 
makes me think of the way you danced ‘ High putty Martin’ 
the time you stuck a sliver in your heel ’’— 


Up to this point ’Lena had stood immovable, amid the loud 
shouts of her companions, but the fire of a hundred volcanoes 
burned within and flashed from her eyes. And now springing 
forward, she caught the letter from Carrie’s hand, and inflict- 

ing a long scratch upon her forehead, fled from the room. 

Had not Durward Bellmont been present, Carrie would have 
flown after her cousin, to avenge the insult, and even now she 
was for a moment thrown off her guard, and starting forward, 
exclaimed, ‘‘ the tigress!” 

Drawing his fine cambric handkerchief from his pocket, 
Durward gently wiped the blood from her white brow, saying 
‘* Never mind. It is not a deep scratch.” 

‘<¢T wish ’twas deeper,’’ muttered John Jr. ‘** You'd no busi- 
ness to serve her so mean.”’ 

An angry retort rose to Carrie’s lips, but, just in time to pre- 
vent its utterance, Durward also spoke, saying, ‘‘ It was too bad 
to tease her so, but we were all more or less to blame, and I’m 
not sure but we ought to apologize.”’ 

Carrie felt that she would die, almost, before she’d apologize 
to such as ’Lena, and still she thought it might be well enough 
to give Durward the impression that she was doing her best te 
make amends for her fault. Accordingly, the next time her 
cousin appeared in the parlor she was all smiles and affability, 
talking a great deal to ’Lena, who returned very short but civil 
answers, while her face wore a look which Durward construed 
into defiance and hatred of everybody and everything. 

‘* Too passionate,’’ thought he, turning from her to Carrie, 
whose voice, modulated to its softest tones, rang out clear and 
musical, as she sported and laughed with her moody cousin, 
appearing the very essence of sweetness and amiability ! 

Pity he could not have known how bitterly Lena had wept 
over her hasty action—not because fe witnessed it, but because 
she knew it was wrong! Pity he could not have read the tear- 
blotted note, which she laid on Carrie’s work-box, and in which 
was written, ‘‘I am sorry, Carrie, that I hurt you so. I didn’t 
know what I was about, but I will try and not getso angry 
again.”? Pity, too, that he did not see the look of contempt 
with which Carrie perused this note; and when the two girls 
accidentally met in the upper hall, and ’Lena laid her hand 


LENA RIVERS. 67 


gently on Carrie’s arm, it is a thousand pities he was not pres- 
ent to see how fiercely she was repulsed, Carrie exclaiming, 
“«Get out of my sight! J hate you, and so do all of them 
downstairs, Durward in particular.”’ 

Had he known all this he would have thought differently of 
Lena, who, feeling that she was not wanted in the parlor, kept 
herself entirely aloof, never again appearing during the re- 
mainder of his stay. Once Durward asked for her, and half 
laughingly Carrie replied, that ‘‘she had not yet recovered 
from her pouting fit.’” Could he have known her real occupa- 
tion, he might have changed his mind again. The stormy 
weather had so increased Mrs. Nichols’ rheumatic complaint, 
that now, perfectly crippled, she lay as helpless as a child, care. 
fully nursed by "Lena and old Aunt Polly,,who, spite of het 
own infirmities, had hobbled in to wait upon her friend. Never 
but once did Mrs. Livingstone go near her mother’s sick-room 
—-‘‘the smell of herbs made her faint,’’ she said! But to do 
her justice, we must say that she gave Polly unqualified per- 
mission to order anything she pleased for the invalid. 

Toward the close of the third day, the company left. Nellie 
Douglass, who really liked ’Lena, and wished to bid her good- 
bye, whispered to John Jr., asking him to show her the way to 
his cousin’s room. No one except members of the family had 
ever been in Mrs. Nichols’ apartment, and for a moment John 
jr. hesitated, knowing well that Nellie could not fail to observe 
the contrast it presented to the other richly-furnished chambers. 

‘They ought to be mortified—it’ll serve ’em right,’ he 
thought, at last, and motioning Nellie to follow him, he silently 
led the way to his grandmother’s room, where their knock was 
answered by Aunt Polly’s gruff voice, which bade them 
*‘come in.”’ 

They obeyed, but Nellie started back when she saw how 
greatly inferior was this room to the others around it. In an 
instant her eye took in everything, and she readily compre- 
hended the whole. 

“It isn’t my doings, by a jug-full!’’ whispered John Jr., 
himself reddening as he noted the different articles of furniture 
which had never before seemed so meagre and poor. 

On the humble bed, in a half-upright position, lay Mrs. 
Nichols, white as the snowy cap-border which shaded her face. 
Behind her sat ’Lena, supporting her head, and when Nellie 
entered, she was carefully pushing back the few grey locks 
which had fallen over the invalid’s forehead, her own bright 


6S LENA RIVERS. 


curls mingling with them, and resting, some on her neck, and 
some on her grandmother’s shoulder. A deep flush dyed hey 
cheeks when she saw Nellie, who cman she had never looked 
upon a sight more beautiful. 

<¢T did not know your grandmother was ill,’’ said she, com- 
ing forward and gently touching the swollen hand which lay 
outside the counterpane. 

Mrs. Nichols was not too ill to talk, and forthwith she com- 
menced a history of her malady, beginning at the time she first 
had it when ’Lena’s mother was a year and a day old, fre- 
quently quoting Nancy Scovandyke,. and highly entertaining 
Nellie, who listened until warned by the sound of the carriage, 
as it came round to the door, that she must go. 

‘¢ We are going back to Uncle Atherton’s,’’ said she, “but 4 
wanted to bid you good-bye, and ask you to visit me in Frank- 
fort with your cousins. Will you doso?” 

This was wholly unexpected to ’Lena, who, without replying, 
burst into tears. Nellie hardly knew what todo. She seldom 
cried herself—she did not like to see others cry—and still she 
did not blame ’Lena, for she felt that she could not help it, 
At last, taking her hand, she bade her farewell, asking if she 
should not carry a good-bye to the others. 

<¢ Yes, to Mabel,’’ said ’Lena. 

«¢ And zo¢ Durward ?’’ asked Nellie. 

With something of her old spirit "Lena answered, ‘« No, he 
hates me—Carrie says so.’ 

«©Cad’s a fool,’ muttered John Jr., while Nellie rejoined, 
«Durward never hated anybody, and even if he did, he would 
not say so—I mean to tell him;’’ and with another good-bye 
she was gone. 

On the stairs she met Durward, who was looking for her, and 
asked where she had been. 

‘‘To bid "Lena good-bye; don’t you want to go too?’’ said 
Nellie. 

‘‘ Why, yes, if you are sure she won’t scratch my eyes out,”’ 
he returned, gayly, following his cousin. 

“T reckon I’d better tell "Lena to come out into the hall— 
she may not want you in there,’’ said John Jr., and hastening 
forward he told his cousin what was wanted. 

Oh, how ’Lena longed to go, but pride, and the remem- 
brance of Carrie’s words, prevented her, and coldly answering, 
_ No, I don’t wish to see him,’’ she turned away to hide the 
tears and pain which those words had cost her. 


LENA RIVERS. 69 


This visit to Grandma Nichols’ room was productive of some 
good, for John Jr. did not fail of repeating to his mother the 
impression which he saw was made on Nellie’s mind, adding, 
that ‘‘though Durward did not venture in, Nellie would of 
course tell him all about it. And then,’’ said he, ‘‘I wouldn’t 
give much for his opinion of your treatment of your mother.” 

Angry, because she felt the truth of what her son said, Mrs. 
Livingstone demanded ‘‘ what he’d have her do.”’ 

““DoP’’ he repeated, ‘‘ give grandmother a decent room, or 
else fix that one up, so it won’t look like the old scratch had 
been having a cotillon there. Paper and paint it, and make it 
look decent.” 

Upon this last piece of advice Mrs. Livingstone resolved to 
act, for recently several vague rumors had reached her ear, 
touching her neglect of her mother-in-law, and she began her- 
self to think it just possible that a little of her money would be 
well expended in adding to the comfort of her husband’s 
mother. * Accordingly, as soon as Mrs. Nichols was able to sit 
up, her room underwent a thorough renovation, and though no 
great amount of money was expended upon it, it was fitted up 
with so much taste that the poor old lady, whom John Jr., 
’Lena and Anna, had adroitly kept out of the way until her 
room was finished, actually burst into tears when first ushered 
into her light, airy apartment, in which everything looked so 
cheerful and pleasant. 

«‘?Tilda has now and then a good streak,’’ said she, while 
Aunt Milly, who had taken a great deal of interest in the re- 


‘pairing of the room, felt inclined to change her favorite theory 


with regard to her mistress’ future condition. 





CHAPTER IX. 
FIVE YEARS LATER. 


AND in the fair city of elms we again open the scene. It 
was commencement at Yale, and the crowd which filled the old 
Center church were listening breathlessly to the tide of elo- 
quence poured forth by the young valedictorian. 

Durward Bellmont, first in his studies, first in his class, and 
first inthe esteem of his fellow-students, had been unanimously 
chosen to that post of honor, and as the gathered multitude 
hung upon his words and gazed upon his manly beauty, they 


rit LENA RIVERS. 


felt that a better choice could not well have been made. At the 
right of the platform sat a group of ladies, friends, it would seem, 
of the speaker, forever and anon his eyes turned in that direc- 
tion, and as if each glance incited him to fresh efforts, his 
eloquence increased, until at last no sound save that of his 
deep-toned voice was heard, so rapt was every one in the words 
of the young orator. But when his speech was ended, there 
arose deafening shouts of applause, while bouquets fell in per- 
fect showers at his feet. Among them was one smaller and 
more elegant than the rest, and as if it were more precious, 
$00, it was the first which Durward took from the floor. 

««See, Carrie, he gives you the preference,’’ whispered one 
of the young ladies on the right; and Carrie Livingstone for 
she it was, felt a thrill of gratified pride, when she saw how 
carefully he guarded the bouquet, which during all the ex- 
ercises she had made her especial care, calling attention to it in 
so many different ways that hardly any one who saw it in Dur- 
ward’s possession, could fail of knowing from what source it 
came. 

But then everybody said they were engaged—so what did it 
matter ? - Everybody but John Jr., who was John Jr. still, and 
who while’ openly denying the engagement, teasingly hinted 
«that twas no fault of Cad’s.”’ 

For the last three years, Carrie, Nellie, Mabel, and Anna had 
been inmates of the seminary in New Haven, and as they were 
now considered sufficiently accomplished to enter at once upon 
all the gayeties of fashionable life, John Jr. had come on * to 
see the elephant,’”’ as he said, and to accompany them home. 
Carrie had fulfilled the promise of her girlhood, and even her 
brother acknowledged that she was handsome in spite of her 
“ose, which like everybody’s else, still continued to be the most 
yrominent feature of her face. She was proud, too, as well as 
beautiful, and throughout the city she was known as the 
‘¢haughty southern belle,’’ admired by some and disiiked by 
many. Among the students she was not halfso popular as her 
unpretending sister, whose laughing blue eyes and sunny brown 
hair were often toasted, together with the classical brow and 
» dignified bearing of Nellie Douglass; who had lost some of the 
hoydenish propensities of her girlhood, and who was now a 
graceful, elegant creature just merging into nineteen—the pride 
of her widowed father, and the idol still of John Jr., whose 
boyish preference had ripened into a kind of love such as only 
he could feel. 


F 


POT aI OOO ey: 


aXe 


LENA RIVERS. 71 


With poor Mabel Ross it had fared worse, her plain face 
and dumpy little figure never receiving the least attention ex- 


~~ cept from Durward Bellmont, who pitying her lonely condition, 


% 


™ frequently left more congenial society for the sake of en- 


“= tertaining her. Of any one else Carrie would have been jealous, 
. but feeling sure that Mabel had no attraction save her wealth, 


and knowing that Durward did not care for that, she occa- 
sionally suffered him to: leave her side, always feeling amply 


' repaid by the evident reluctance with which he left her society 
“for that of Mabel’s. 


When ill-naturedly rallied by his companions upon his pref- 


' erence for Carrie, Durward would sometimes laughingly refer 


them to the old worn-out story of the fox’and the grapes, for to 


“scarcely any one save himself did Carrie think it worth her 


while to be even gracious. This conduct was entirely at 
variance with her natural disposition, for she was fond of ad- 
miration, come from what source it might, and she would never 
have been so cold and distant to all save Durward, had she not 
once heard him say that ‘‘he heartily despised a juirt,; and 
that no young lady could at all interest him if he suspected her 
of being a coquette.’’ 

This, then, was the secret of her reserve. She was resolved 
upon winning Durward Bellmont, deeming no sacrifice too 
great if in the end it secured the prize. It is true there was 
one sophomore, a perfumed, brainless fop, from Rockford, N. 
Y., who, next to Durward, was apparently most in favor, but 
the idea of her entertaining even a shadow of a liking for Tom 
Lakin, was too ludicrous to be harbored for a moment, so his 
attentions went for naught, public opinion uniting in giving her 
to Mr. Bellmont. 

With the lapse of years, Anna, tes, had greatly improved. 
The extreme delicacy of her figure was gone, and though her 
complexion was as white and pure as marble, it denoted per- 
fect health. With John Jr. she was still the favorite sister, the 
one whom he loved the best. ‘‘ Carrie was too stiff and proud,”’ 
he said, and though when he met her in New Haven, after 
a year’s absence, his greeting was kind and brotherly, he soon 
turned from her to Anna and Nellie, utterly neglecting Mabel, 
ae turned away to her chamber to cry, because no one cared 
or her. 

Frequently had his mother reminded him of the importance 
of securing a wealthy bride, always finishing her discourse by 
speaking of Mr. Douglass’ small income, and enlarging upon 


, AIDE L VOX 
herp 


eo Unwed ave 5 


72 LENA RIVERS. 


the immense wealth of Mabel Ross, whose very name had be- 
come disagreeable to John Jr. At one time his father had hoped 
he, too, would enter college, but the young man derided the 
idea of his ever making a scholar, saying, however, more in 
sport than in earnest, that ‘‘ he was willing to enter a store, of 
learn a ¢vrade, so that in case he was ever obliged to earn his 
own living, he would have some means of doing it;’’ but to 
ehis his mother would not listen. He was her ‘darling boy,”’ 
and ‘his hands, soft and white as those of a girl, should never 
become hardened and embrowned by labor!’’ So, while his 
sisters were away at school, he was at home, hunting, fishing, 
riding, teasing his grandmother, tormenting the servants, and 
shocking his mother by threatening to make love to his cousin 
"Lena, to whom he was at once a pest and a comfort, and who 
now claims a share of our attention. 

When it was decided to send Carrie and Anna to New 
Haven, Mr. Livingstone proposed that ’Lena should also ac. 
company them, but this plan Mrs. Livingstone opposed with all 
her force, declaring that er money should never be spent in 
educating the ‘‘beggarly relatives”? of her husband, who in 
this, as in numerous other matters, was forced to yield the 
point. As Mr. Everett’s services were now no longer needed, 
he accepted the offer of a situation in the family of General 
Fontaine, a high-bred, southern gentleman, whose plantation 
was distant but half a mile from ‘‘ Maple Grove’’ ; and as he 
there taught a regular school, having under his charge several 
of the daughters of the neighboring planters, it was decided 
that ’Lena also should continue under his instruction. 

Thus while Carrie and Anna were going through the daily 
routine of a fashionable boarding-school, ’Lena was storing her 
mind with useful knowledge, and though her accomplishments 
were not quite so showy as those of her cousins, they had in 
them the ring of the pure metal. Although her charms were 
as yet but partially developed, she was a creature of rare love- 
tiness, and many who saw her for the first time, marveled that 
iught so beautiful could be real. She had never seen Durward 
Bellmont since that remarkable Christmas week, but many a 
time had her cheeks flushed with a feeling which she could not 
define, as she read Anna’s accounts of the flattering attentions 
which he paid to Carrie, who, when at home, still treated her 
with haughty contempt or cool indifference. 

But for this she did not care. She knew she was loved by 
Anna, and liked by John Jr., and she hoped—nay, half be- 


we 


£ 


LENA RIVERS. 3 


lieved—that she was not wholly indifferent to her uncle, who, 
while he seldom made any show of his affection, still in his 
heart admired and felt proud of her. With his wife it was 
different. She hated ’Lena—hated her because she was beau- 
tiful and talented, and because in her presence Carrie and Anna 
were ever in the shade. Still her niece was too general a favor- 
ite in the neighborhood to allow of open hostility at home, and 
so the proud woman ground together her glittering teeth—and 
waited ; 

Among cne many who admired ’Leua, there was no one who 
gave her such full and unbounded homage as did her grand- 
mother, whose life at Maple Grove had been one of shadow, 
seldom mingled with sunshine. Gradualiy had she learned the 
estimation in which she was held by her son’s wife, and she 
felt how bitter it was to eat the bread of dependence. As far 
as she was able, ’Lena shielded her from the sneers of her aunt, 
who thinking she had done all that was required of her when 
she fixed their room, would for days and even weeks appear ut- 
terly oblivious of their presence, or frown darkly whenever 
chance threw them in her way. She had raised no objection 
to ’Lena’s continuing a pupil of Mr. Everett, who, she hoped, 
would not prove indifferent to her charms, fancying that in this 
way she would sooner be rid of one whom she feared as a rival 
of her daughters. 

But she was mistaken ; for much as Malcolm Sverett might 
admire ’Lena, another image than hers was enshrined in his 
heart, and most carefuily guarded was the little golden curl, 
tut in seeming sport from the head it once adorned, and now 
treasured as a sacred memento of the past. Believing that it 
would be so because she wished it to be so, Mrs. Livingstone 
had more than once whispered to her female friends her sur- 
mises that Malcolm Everett would marry ’Lena, and at the time 
of which we are speaking, it was pretty generally understood 
that a strong liking, at least, if not an engagement, existed be- 
tween them. 

Old Captain Atherton, grown more smooth and portly, 


_ rubbed his fat hands complacently, and while applying ‘Twigg’s 


Preparation to his hair, congratulated himself that the only 
rival he had ever feared was now out of his way. Thinking, 
too, that ’Lena had conferred a great favor upon himself by 
taking Mr. Everett from off his mind, became exceedingly 
poiite to her, making her little presents and frequently asking 
her to ride. Whenever these invitations were accepted, they 


44 LENA RIVERS. 


were sure to be followed by a ludicrous description to Anna, 
who iaughed merrily over her cousin’s letters, declaring herselt 
half jealous of her ‘‘grey-haired lover,’’ as she termed the 
captain. 

All such communications were eagerly seized by Carrie, and 
fully discussed in the presence of Durward, who gradually re- 
ceived the impression that ’Lena was a. flirt, a species of 
womankind which he held in great abhorrence. Just before he 
left New Haven, he received a letter from his stepfather, re- 
questing him to stop for a day or two at Captain Atherton’s, 
where he would join him, as he wished to look at a country- 
seat near Mr. Livingstone’s, which was now for sale. This 
plan gave immense satisfaction to Carrie, and when her brother 
proposed that Durward should stop at their father’s instead of 
the captain’s she seconded the invitation so warmly, that Dur- 
ward finally consented, and word was immediately sent to Mrs. 
Livingstone to hold herself in readiness to receive Mr. Bell- 
mont. 

‘©Oh, I do hope your father will secure Woodlawn,”’ said 
Carrie, as in the parlor of the Burnett House, Cincinnati, they 
were discussing the projected purchase. 

The other young ladies had gone out shopping, and John 
Jr., who was present, and who felt just like teasing his sister, 
replied, ‘‘ What do you care? Mrs. Graham has no daughters, 
and she won’t fancy such a chit as you, so it must be Dur- 
ward’s society that you so much desire, but I can assure you 
that your zose will be broken when once he sees our ’Lena.”’ 

Carrie turned toward the window to hide her wrath at this 
speech, while Durward asked if ‘‘ Miss Rivers were so very 
handsome ? ”’ 

‘* Handsome /"’ repeated John. ‘‘ That don’t begin to ex- 
press it. Cad is what I call handsome, but ’Lena is beautiful, 
more beautiful, most beautiful—now you have it superlatively. 
Such complexion—such eyes—such hair—l’ll be hanged if I 
haven’t been more than half in love with her myself.’ 

*‘T really begin to tremble,’’ said Durward, laughingly, 
while Carrie rejoined, ‘‘ You’ve only to make the slightest ad- 
vance, and your love will be returned tenfold, for Lena is very 

usceptible, and already encourages several admirers.’’ 

««’There, my fair sister, you are slightly mistaken,”’ inter- 

upted John Jr., who was going on farther in his remarks, 
when Durward asked if ‘she ever left any marks of her 
affection,’’ referring to the scratch she had given Carrie; who, 


oF 


LENA RIVERS. q3 


before her brother had time to speak, repMed that * the we? 
and the c/aws remained the same, though common decency 
kept them hidden when it was necessary.”’ 

«¢ That’s downright slander,’’ said John Jr., determined now 
upon defending his cousin. ‘‘ Lena has a high temper, I ac- 
knowledge, but she tries hard to govern it, and for nearly two 
years I’ve not seen her angry once, though she’s had every 
provocation under heaven.”’ 

‘¢She knows whex and where to be amiable,’’ retorted 
Carrie. <‘ Any one of her admirers would tell the same story 
with yourself.’’ 

At this juncture John Jr. was called for a moment from the 
room, and Carrie, fearing she had said too much, immediately 
apologized to Durward, saying, ‘‘ it was not often that she al- 
lowed herself to speak against her cousin, and that she should 
not have done so now, were not John so much blinded, that her 
mother, knowing ’Lena’s ambitious nature, sometimes seriously 
feared the consequence. I know,’’ said she, ‘‘that John 
fancies Nellie, but ’Lena’s influence over him is very great.’’ 

Durward made no reply, and Carrie continued: ‘I’m al- 
ways sorry when I speak against "Lena; she is my cousin, and 
I wouldn’t prejudice any one against her; so you must forget 
my unkind remarks, which would never have been uttered in 
the presence of a stranger. She zs handsome and agreeable, 
and you must like her in spite of what I said.”’ 

«¢T cannot refuse when so fair a lady pleads her cause,’’ was 
Durward’s gallant answer, and as the other young ladies then 
entered the room, the conversation ceased. 

Meanwhile ’Lena was very differently employed. Nearly a 
year had elapsed since she had seen her cousins, and her heart 
bounded with joy at the thought of meeting Anna, whom she 
dearly loved. Carrie was to her an object of indifference, 
rather than dislike, and ofttimes had she thought, ‘If she 
would only let me love her.’’ But it could not be, for there 
was no affinity between them. Carrie was proud and over- 
bearing—jealous of her high-spirited cousin, who, as John Jr. 
had said, strove hard to subdue her temper, and who now 
seldom resented Carrie’s insults, except when they were leveled 
at her aged grandmother. 

As we have before stated, news had been received at Maple 
Grove that Durward would accompany her cousins home, 
Mr. Graham would, of course, join him there, and accordingly, 
extensive preparations were immediately commenced. An un- 


46 LENA RIVERS. 


usual uegree of sickness was prevailing among the female 
portion of Mrs. Livingstone’s servants, and the very day before 
the company was expected, Aunt Milly, the head cook was 
taken suddenly ill. Coaxing, scolding, and threatening were 
alike ineffectual. ‘The old negress would not say she was well 
when she wasn’t, and as Hagar, the next in command, was 
also sick (/azy as her mistress called it,) Mrs. Livingstone was 
herself obliged to superintend the cookery. , 

‘¢Crosser than a bar,’’ as the little darkies said, she flew 
back and forth, from kitchen to pantry, her bunch of keys rat- 
tling, the corners of her mouth drawn back, and her hands 
raised ready to strike at anything that came in her way. As 
if there were a fatality attending her movements, she was un- 
fortunate in whatever she undertook. ‘The cake was burned 
black, the custard curdled, the preserves wéré found to be 
working, the big preserve dish got broken, a thunder shower 
soured the cream, and taking it all in all, she really had trou. 
ble enough to disconcert the most experienced housekeeper, 
still, the few negroes able to assist, thought ‘* she needn’t be sa 
fetch-ed cross.’ 

But cross she was, feeling more than once tnelined to lay 
witchcraft to the charge of old Milly, who comfortably en- 
sconced in bed, listened in dismay to the disastrous accounts 
brought her from time to time from the kitchen, m¢ entally con- 
gratulating herself the while upon not being within hearing of 
her mistress’ tongue. Once Mrs. Nichols attempted to help, 
but she was repulsed so angrily that "Lena did not prestime to 
offer her services until the day of their arrival, when, without a 
word, she repaired to the chambers, which she swept and 
dusted, arranging the furniture, and making everything ready 
for the comfort of the travelers. ‘Then descending to the par- 
lors, she went through the same process there, filled the vases 
with fresh flowers, looped back the curtains, opened the piano, 
wheeled the sofa a little to the right, the large chair a little to 
the left, and then going to the dining-room, she set the table in 
the most perfect order, doing all so quietly that her aunt knew 
nothing of it until it was done. Jake the coachman, had gone 
down to Frankfort after them, and as he was not expected to 
return until between three and four, dinner was deferred until 
that hour. 

From sunrise Mrs. i inneetone had worked ind ustriously, 
until her face and temper were at boiling heat. ‘The clock was 
on the point of striking three, and she was bending over a 


LENA RIVERS. rere 


reasting turkey, when ’Lena ventured to approach her, saying, 
*¢T have seen Aunt Milly baste a turkey many a time, and Iam 
sure I can do it as well as she.”’ 

‘¢ Well, what of it?’’ was the uncivil answer. 

*Lena’s temper choked her, but forcing it down, she replied : 
s‘Why, it is almost three, and I thought perhaps you would 
want to cool and dress yourself before they came. I can see 
to the dinner, 1 know I can. _ Please let me try.” 

Somewhat mollified by her niece’s kind manner, Mrs. Liv- 
ingstone resigned her post and repaired to her own room, while 
’Lena, confining her long curls to the top of her head and don- 
ning the wide check-apron which her aunt had thrown aside, 
set herself at work with a right good will. 

‘¢What dat ar you say?’’ exclaimed Aunt Milly, lifting her 
woolly head from her pillow, and looking at the little colored 
girl, who had brought to her the news that ‘‘ young miss was in 
de kitchen.’’ ‘‘What dat ar you tellin’? Miss ’Leny pokin’ 
’mong de pots and kittles, and dis ole nigger lazin’ in bed jes 
like white folks. Long as ’twas ole miss, i didn’t keer. Good 
’nough for her to roast, blister, and bile; done get used to it, 
case she’s got to in kingdom come, no mistake—he !—he! 
But little Miss ’Leny, it’s too bad to bake her lamb’s-wool 
hands and face, and all de quality comin’: I'll hobble up 
thar, if I can stand.”’ 

Suiting the action to the word she got out of bed, and crawl- 
ing up to the kitchen, insisted upon taking ’Lena’s place, say- 
ing, ‘‘she could sit in her chair and tell the rest what to do.”’ 

For a time ’ Lena hesitated, the old woman seemed so faint and 
weak, but the sound of wheels decided her. Springing to the 
sideboard in the dining-room, she brought Aunt Milly a glass 
of wine, which revived her so much that she now felt willing 
to leave her. By this time the carriage was at the door, and 
to escape unobserved was now her great object. But this she 
could not do, for as she was crossing the hall, Anna espied her, 
and darting forward, seized her around the neck, at the same 
time dragging her toward Carrie, who, with Durward’s eye 
“non her, £ssed her twice; then turning to him, she said, ‘I 
suppose you do not need an introduction to Miss Rivers? ’’ 

Durward was almost guilty of the rudeness of staring at the 
strangeness of ’Lena’s appearartigg, for as nearly as she could, 
she looked like a fright. Bendiffg over hot stoves and boiling 
gravies is not very beneficial to one’s complexion, and ’Lena’s 
cheeks, neck, forehead, and nose were of a purplish red—her 


18 LENA RIVERS. 


hair was tucked back in a manner exceedingly unbecoming, 
while the broad check-apron, which came nearly to her feet, 
tended in nowise to improve her appearance. She felt it 
keenly, and after returning Durward’s salutation, she broke away 
before Anna or John Jr., who were both surprised at her looks, 
had time to ask a question. i 

Running up to her room, her first impulse was to cry, but 
knowing that would disfigure her still more, she bathed her 
burning face and neck, brushed out her curls, threw on a sim- 
ple muslin dress, and started for the parlor, of which Durward 
and Carrie were at that moment the only occupants. “As she 
was passing the outer door, she observed upon one of the piazza 
pillars a half-blown rose, and for a moment stopped to admire 
it. Durward, who sat in a corner, did not see her, but Carrie 
did, and in a malicious feeling prompted her to draw out her 
companion, who she felt sure was disappointed in ’Lena’s face. 
They were speaking of a lady whom they saw at Frankfort, and 
whom Carrie pronounced ‘‘ perfectly beautiful,’’ while Dur- 
ward would hardly admit that she was even good-looking. 

‘‘T am surprised at your taste,’’ said Carrie, adding, as she 
noticed the proximity of her cousin, ‘‘1 think she resembles 
’Lena, and of course you’ll acknowledge she is beautiful.’ 

‘«She was beautiful five years ago, but she’s greatly changed 
since then,’’ answered Durward, never suspecting the exquisite 
satisfaction his words afforded Carrie, who replied, ‘‘ You had 
better keep that opinion to yourself, and not express it before 
Captain Atherton or brother John.’’ 

‘Who takes my name in vain?’’ asked John Jr., himself 
appearing at a side door. 

‘Oh, John,” said Carrie, ‘‘we were just disputing about 
*Lena. Durward does not think her handsome.” 

‘¢ Durward be hanged !’’ answered John, making a feint of 
drawing from his pocket a pistol which was not there. <‘¢ What 
fault has he to find with ’Lena?”’ 

‘‘A little too rosy, that’s all,’’ said Durward, laughingly, 
while John continued, ‘‘She ad look confounded red and 
dowdyish, for her. I don’t understand it myself.’’ 

Here the hem of the muslin dress on which Carrie’s eye had 
all the while been resting, disappeared, and as there was no 
longer an incentive for ill-natured remarks, the amiable young 
lady adroitly changed the conversation. 

John Jr. also caught a glimpse of the retreating figure, and 
started in pursuit, in the course of his search passing the 


LENA RIVERS. (9 


kitchen, where he was instantly hailed by Aunt Milly, who, 
while bemoaning her own aches and pains, did not fail to tell 
him how ‘‘ Miss ’Lena, like a borned angel dropped right out 


fh. of ’tarnity, had been in thar, burning her skin to a fiery red, 


a-tryin’ to get up a tiptop dinner.”’ 

«<So ho!’ thought the young man, ‘‘that explains it; °’ 
and turning on his heel, he walked back to the house just as 
the last bell was ringing for dinner. 

On entering the dining-room, he found all the family assem- 
bled, except *Lena. She had excused herself on the plea of a 
severe headache, and now in her own room was chiding herself 
for being so much affected by a remark accidentally overheard. 
What did she care if Durward did think her plain? He was 
nothing to her, and never would be—and again she bathed her 
head, which really was aching sadly. 

<‘ And so 'Lena’s got the headache,”’ said John Jr. ‘* Well, 
I don’t wonder, cooking all the dinner as she did.”’ 

‘“‘What do you mean?’ asked Anna, while Mrs. Living- 
stone’s angry frown bade her son keep silence. 

Filial obedience, however, was not one of John Jr.’s cardinal 
virtues, and in a few words, he repeated what Aunt Milly had 
told him, adding aside to Durward, ‘‘ 7his explains the ex- 
“treme rosiness which so much offended your lordship. anes 
next you see her, you’ll change your mind.”’ 

Suddenly remembering that his grandmother had not been 
introduced, he now presented her to Durward. ‘The JVodle’s 
blood had long been forgotten, but grandma was never ata 
loss for a subject, and she commenced talking notwithstanding 
Carrie’s efforts to keep her still. 

‘‘Now I think on’t, Car’line,’’ she said at last, turning to 
her granddaughter, ‘‘now I think on’t, what made you pro- 
pose to have my dinner sent up to my room. I hain’t et there 
but once this great while, and that was the day General Fon- 
taine’s folks were here, and Matilda thought 1 warn’t able to 
come down.”’ 

Durward’s half-concealed smile showed that he understood 
it all, while John Jr., in his element when his grandmother was 
talking, managed to lead her on, until she reached her favorite 
theme—Nancy Scovandyke. Here a look from her son si- 
lenced her, and as dinner was just then over, Durward missed 
of hearing that remarkable lady’s history. 

Late in the afternoon, as the family were sitting upon the 
piazza, ’Lena joined them. He: headache had passed away, 


&0 LENA RIVERS. 


leaving her face a shade winter than tu ual, The flush was 
gone from her forehead and nose, but mindful of Durward’s 
remark, the roses deepened on her cheek, which only increased 
her loveliness. 

*©Y acknowledge that 1 was wrong—your cousin zs beauti 
ful,”’? whispered Durward to Carrie, who, mentaily hating the 
beaury which had never before struck her so forcibly, replied 
in her softest tones, ‘‘I knew you would, and I hope you’ll be 
equally ready to forgive her for winning hearts only to break 
them, for with that face how can she help it?”’ 

‘A handsome face is no excuse for coquetry,’’ answered 
Durward; ‘‘neither‘can J think Miss Rivers guilty of it. At 
all-events, I mean to venture a little nearer,’’ and before Carrie 
could frame a reasonable excuse for keeping him at her side, 
he had crossed over and taken a seat by ’Lena, with whom he 
was soon in the midst of an animated conversation, his surprise 
each moment increasing at the depth of intellect she displayed, 
for the beauty of her mind was equal to that of her person, 
Had it not been for the remembrance of Carrie’s insinuations, 
his admiration would have been complete. But anything like 
coquetry he heartily despised, and one great secret of his liking 
for Carrie, was her evident freedom from that fault. As yet 
he had seen nothing to condemn in ’Lena’s conduct. Wholly 
unaffected, she talked with him as she would have talked with 
any stranger, and still there was in her manner a certain cold. 
ness for which he could not account. 

‘Perhaps she thinks me not worth the winning,’’ thought 
he, and in spite of his principles, he erelong found himself ex- 
erting all his powers to please and interest her. 

About tea-time, Captain Atherton rode into the yard, and 
simultaneously with his arrival, Mr. Everett came also. Im- 
mediately remembering what he had heard, Durward, m his 
eagerness to watch ’Lena, failed to note the crimson flush on 
Anna’s usually pale cheek, as Malcolm bent over her with his 
low-spoken, tender words of welcome, and when the phthisicky, 
captain, claiming the privilege of an old friend, kissed the 
blushing Anna, Durward in his blindness attributed the scorn- 
ful expression of ’Lena’s face to a feeling of unwillingness that 
any save herself should share the attentions even of the cap- 
tain! And in this impression he was erelong confirmed. 

Drawing his chair up to Anna, Captain Atherton managed te 
keep Malcolm at a distance, while he himself wholly monopo- 
lized the young girl, who cast imploring glances toward her 





LENA RIVERS, 82 


asin, as if asking for relief. Many a tous, on similar oc- 
casions, had ’Lena claimed the attention of the captain, for ihe 
sae of leaving Anna free to converse with Malcolm, and now 
understanding what was wanted of her, she nodded in token 
that she would come to the rescue. Just then, Mrs. Living- 
stone, who had kept an eye upon her niece, drew near, and as 
she seemed to want a seat, ’Lena instantly arose and offered 
hers, going herself to the place where the captain was sitting. 
Ereiong, her lively sallies and the captain’s loud laugh began 
to attract Mrs. Livingstone’s attention, and observing that Dur- 
wara’s eyes were frequently drawn that way, she thought 
proper to make some remarks concerning the impropriety oi 
her niece’s conduct. 

‘¢} do wish,’’ said she, apparently speaking more to herself 
than to Durward, ‘‘I do wish ’Lena would learn discretion, and 
let Cay tain Atherton alone, when she knows how much her be- 
havior annoys Mr. Everett.’’ 

‘ss Mr. Everett anything to her?’’ asked Durward, half 
hoping that she would not confirm what Carrie had before 
tinted. 

‘¢Tf he isn’t he ought to be,’’ answered Mrs. Livingstone, 
with ai: ominous shake of the head. ‘Rumor says they are 
engaged, and though when questioned she denies it, she gives 
people abundant reason to think so, and yet every chance she 
gets, she flirts with Captain Atherton, as you see her doing | 
now.’ 

«¢ What can she or any other young girl possibly want of that 
old man ?’? asked Durward, laughing at the very idea. 

‘¢He is rich. ‘Lena is poor, proud, and ambitious—there 
lies the secret,’’ was Mrs. Livingstone’s reply, and thinking she 
had said enough for the present, she excused herself while she 
went to give orders concerning supper. 

John Jr., and Carrie, too, had disappeared, and thus left te 
himself, Durward had nothing to do but to watch ’Lena, who, 
as she saw symptoms of desertion in the anxious glances which 
the captain cast toward Anna, redoubled her exertions to keep 
him‘at her side, thus confirming Durward in the belief that she 
really was what her aunt and Carrie had represented her to be. 
«¢Poor, proud, and ambitious,’’ rang in his ears, and as he 
mistook the mischievous look which ’Lena frequently sent to- 
ward Anna and Malcolm, for a desire to see how the latter was 
affected by her conduct, he thought, ‘‘ Fickle as fair,”’ at the 
Same time congratulating himself that he had obtained an mr 





42 LENA RIVERS. 


sight into her real character, ere her exceeding beauty ang 
agreeable manners had made any particular impression upon 
him, 

Knowing she had done nothing to offend him, and feeling 
piqued at his indifference, "Lena in turn treated him so coldly, 
that even Carrie was satisfied with the phase which affairs had 
assumed, and that night, in the privacy of her mother’s dress- 
ing-room, expressed her pleasure that matters were progressing 
so finely. 

‘¢ You’ve no idea, mother,’’ said she, ‘‘ how much he detests 
anything like coquetry. Nellie Douglass thinks it’s a kind of 
monomania with him, and I am inclined to believe it is so.’’ 

‘‘In that case,’’ answered Mrs. Livingstone, ‘‘it behooves 
you, in his presence, to be very careful how you demean your- 
self toward other gentlemen.”’ 

«‘T haven’t lived nineteen years for nothing,’’ said Carrie, 
folding her soft white hands complacently one over the other. 

‘¢ Speaking of Nellie Douglass,’’ continued Mrs. Livingstone, 
who had long desired this interview with her daughter, “ speak- 
ing of Nellie, reminds me of your brother, who seems perfectly 
crazy about her.” 

«And what if he does?’’ asked Carrie, her thoughts far 
more intent upon Durward Belimont than her brother. ‘‘ Isn’t 
Nellie good enough for him? ” 

‘¢ Yes, good enough, I admit,’ returned her mother, ‘but 
I think I can find a far more suitable match—Mabel Ross, for 
instance. Her fortune is said to be immense, while Mr. Doug- 
lass is worth little or nothing.”’ 

‘*When you bring about a union between John Livingstone 
Jr. and Mabel Ross, I shall have full confidence in your powers 
to do anything, even to the marrying of Anna and Grandfather 
Atherton,’’ answered Carrie, to whom her mother’s schemes 
were no secret. | 

‘‘And that, too, I'll effect, rather then see her thrown away 
upon a low bred northerner, who shall never wed her—never ; ’’ 
and the haughty woman paced up and down her room, devising 
numerous ways by which her long cherished three-fold plan 
should be effected. 

The next morning, Durward arose much earlier than was his 
usual custom, and going out into the garden he came suddenly 
upon ’Lena. ‘‘This,’’ said he, ‘‘is a pleasure which I did not 
expect when I rather unwillingly tore myself from my pillow.” 

All the coldness of the night before was gone, but ‘Lena 


| 


LENA RIVERS. 8&3 


could not so soon forget, and quite indifferently she answered, 
that ‘she learned to rise early among the New England hills.”’ 

‘¢ An excellent practice, and one which more of our young 
ladies would do well to imitate,’”’ returned Durward, at the 
same time speaking of the beautifying effect which the morning 
air had upon her complexion. 

*Lena reddened, for she recalled his words of yesterday con- 
cerning her plainness, and somewhat sharply she replied, that 
‘¢ any information regarding her personal appearance was wholly 
unnecessary, as she knew very well how she looked.”’ 

Durward bit his lip, and resolving never to compliment Aer 
again, walked on in silence at her side, while "Lena, repenting 
of her hasty words, and desirous of making amends, exerted 
herself to be agreeable; and by the time the br reakfast-bell 
tang, Durward mentally pronounced her ‘‘a perfect mystery,” 
which he would take delight in inraveling ! 


CHAPTER’ X. 
MR. AND MRS. GRAHAM, 


Breakrast had been some time.over, when the roll of car- 
riage wheels and a loud ring at the door, announced the arrival 
of Mr. Graham, who, true to his appointment with Durward, 
had come up to meet him, accompanied by Mrs. Graham. 
This lady, who could boast of having once been the bride of 
an English lord, to say nothing of belonging to the ‘‘ very first 
family of Virginia,’”’ was a sort of bugbear to Mrs. Livingstone, 
who, haughty and overbearing to her equals, was nevertheless 
cringing and cowardly in the presence of those whom she con- 
sidered her superiors. Never having seen Mrs. Graham, her 
ideas concerning her were quite elevated, and now when she 
came unexpectedly, it quite overcame her. Unfortunately, too, 
she was this morning suffering from a nervous headache, the 
result of the excitement and late hours of the night before, and 
on learning that Mrs. Graham was in the parlor, she fell back 
in her rocking-chair, and between a groan and a sigh, declared 
her utter inability to see her at present, saying that Carrie must 
play the part of hostess until such time as she felt composed 
<nough to undertake it. 

‘*Qh, I can’t—I shan’¢—that ends it!’’ said Carrie, who, 


84 LENA RIVERS, 


though a good deal dressed on Durward’s account, stil’ &lt 
anxious to give a few more finishing touches to her toilet, and 
to see if her hair and complexion were all right, ere she ven- 
tured into the august presence of her ‘‘ mother-in-law eect,’ 
as she confidently considered Mrs. Graham. 

«Anna must go, then,” persisted Mrs. Livingstone, who 
knew full well how, useless it would be to press Carrie farther. 
«¢ Anna must go—where is she? Call her, Lena.” 

But Anna was away over the fields, enjoying with Mr. 
Everett a walk which had been planned the night previous, and 
when ’Lena returned with the intelligence that she was nowhere 
to be found, her aunt in great distress exclaimed, ‘*‘ Mercy me! 
what will Mrs. Graham think—and Mr. Livingstone, too, keeps 
running back and forth for somebody to entertain her. What 
shall ldo! I can’t go in looking so yellow and jaded as 1 now 
do!” 

‘Lena’s first thought was to bring her aunt’s powder-ball, as 
the surest way of remedying the yellow skin, but knowing that 
such an act would be deeply resented, she quickly repressed the 
idea, offering instead to go herself to the parlor. 

«* You! What could you say to her?’ returned Mrs. 
Livingstone, to whom the proposition was not altogether dis- 
pleasing. , 

«‘T can at least answer her questions,’’ returned ’Lena, and 
after a moment her aunt consented, wondering the while how 
*Lena, in her plain gingham wrapper and linen collar, could be 
willing to meet the fashionable Mrs. Graham. 

‘¢Put then,’’ thought she, ‘‘she has so little sensibility. IL 
don’t s’pose she cares! and why should she? Mrs. Graham 
will of course look upon her as only a little above a servant” 
-—and with this complimentary reflection upon her niece, Mrs. 
Livingstone retired to her dressing-room, wh‘te ’Lena, with a 
beating heart and slightly heightened colo repaired tay 
parlor. he se 

On a sofa by the window sat Mrs. Graham, and* 





the momen 

‘Lena’s eye fell upon her, her fears vanished, while she could 
hardly repress a smile at the idea of being afraid of her. She 
was a short, dumpy, florid looking woman, showily, and as 
Lena thought, over-dressed for morning, as her person was cov- 
ered with jewlery, which flashed and sparkled with every move- 
ment. Her forehead was very low, and marked by a scowl of 
discontent which was habitual, for with everything to make her 
happy, Mrs. Graham was far from being so. Exceedingly xerv- 


“LENA RIVERS. “eee 


ous and fidgety, she was apt to see only the darker side, and 
when her husband and son, who were of exactly opposite 
temperaments, strove to laugh her into good spirits, they gener- 
ally made the matter worse, as she usually reproached them with 
having no feeling or sympathy for her. 

Accustomed to a great deal of attention, she had fretted her- 
self into quite a fever at Mrs. Livingstone’s apparent lack of 
courtesy in not hastening to receive her, and when ’Lena’s 
light step was heard in the hall, she turned toward the door 
with a frown which seemed to ask why she had not come 
sooner. Durward, who was present immediately introduced 
his mother, at the same time admiring the extreme dignity of 
*Lena’s manner as she received the lady’s greeting, apologizing 
for her aunt’s non-appearance, saying ‘‘she was suffering from 
a severe headache, and begged to be excused for an hour or 
so.”” 

‘‘Quite excusable,’ returned Mrs. Graham, at the same 
time saying something in a low tone about it’s not being her 
wish to stop there so early, as she knew she was not expected. 

«But perfectly welcome, nevertheless,’’ "Lena hastened to 
say, thinking that for the time being thc utation of her un- 
cle’s house was resting upon her shoulders. 

«©] dare say,’’ was Mrs. Graham’s ungracious answer, and 
then her littie grey, deep-set eyes rested upon "Lena, wondering 
if she were ‘*a governess or what?’’ and thinking it strange 
that she should seem so perfectiy self-possessed. 

Insensibly, too, "Lena’s manner won upon her, for spite of 
her fretfulness, Mrs. Graham at heart was a kindly disposed 
woman. ‘Ill health and long years of dissipation had helped to 


make her what she was. Besides this, she was not quite 


happy in her domestic relations, for though Mr. Graham pos- 
sessed all the requisites of a kind and affectionate husband, he 


could not remove from her mind the belief that he liked others > | 


better than he did herself! °*T'was in vain that he alternately 
laughed at and reasoned with her on the subject. She was not 
to. be convinced, and so poor Mr. Graham, who was reaily ex- 
ceedingly polite and affable to the ladies, was almost constantly 
provoking the green-eyed monster by his attentions to some 
one of the fair sex. In spite of his nightly ‘‘ Caudle’”’ lectures, 
he woudd transgress again and again, until his wife’s patience 
was exhausted, and now she affected to have given him up, 
turning for comfort and affection toward Durward, who was 
her speciai delight, *‘the very apple of her eye—he was s@ 


86 LENA RIVERS, 


much like his father, Sir Arthur, who during the whole year 
that she lived with him had never once given her cause for 
jealousy.’ 

Just before ’Lena entered the parlor Mr. Graham had for a 
moment stepped out with Mr. Livingstone, but soon returning, 
he, too, was introduced to the young lady. It was strange, 
considering ’Lena’s uncommon beauty, that Mrs. Graham did 
not watch her husband’s manner, but for once in her life she 
felt no fears, and looking from the window, she failed to note 
the sudden pallor which overspread his face when Mr. Living- 
stone presented to him ‘‘ Miss Rivers—my niece.” . 

Mr. Graham was a tall, finely-formed man, with a broad, 
good-humored face, whose expression instantly demanded respect 
from strangers, while his pleasant, affable deportment univers- 
ally won the friendship of all who knew him. And ’Lena was 
not an exception to the general rule, for the moment his warm 
hand grasped hers and his kindly beaming eye rested upon 
her, her heart went toward him as a friend, while she wondered 
why he looked at her so long and earnestly, twice repeating 
her name—‘‘ Miss Rivers—tzvers.”’ 

From the first, Lena had recognized him as the same gentle- 
man whom Durward had called father in the cars years ago, 
and when, as if to apologize for his singular conduct, he asked 
if they had never met before, she referred him to that time, 
saying ‘‘ she thought it strange that he should remember her.”’ 

<¢Old acquaintances—ah—indeed !”’ and little Mrs. Graham 
nodded and fanned, while her round, florid face grew more 
florid, and her linen cambric went up to her forehead, as_ if 
trying to smooth out the scowl which was of too long standing 
to be smoothed. 

‘Yes, my dear,’’ said Mr. Graham, turning toward his wife, 
‘‘T had entirely forgotten the circumstance, but it seems I saw 
her in the cars when we took our eastern tour six or seven 
asc ago. You were quite a little girl then’’—turning to 
*Lena. 

‘Only ten,’’ was the reply, and Mrs. Graham, ashamed of 
herself and anxious to make amends, softened considerable to- 
ward ‘Lena, asking ‘how long she had lived in Kentucky— 
where she used to live—and where her mother was.’’ 

At this question, Mr. Graham, who was talking with Mr. 
Livingstone, suddenly stopped. 

«‘ My mother is dead,’’ answered ’Lena. 

‘¢ And your father ? ” 


LENA RIVERS. 87% 


**«Gone to Canada!’’ interrupted Durward, whe had heard 
vague rumors of ’Lena’s parentage, and who did not quite like 
his mother’s being so inquisitive. 

Mrs. Graham laughed ; she always did at whatever Durward 
said; while Mr. Graham replied to a remark made by Mr. 
Livingstone some time before. Here John Jr. appeared, and 
after being formally introduced, he seated himself by his cousin, 
addressing to her some trival remark, and calling her ’ Zena. 
It was well for Mr. Graham’s after peace that his wife was just 
then too much engrossed with Durward to observe the effect 
which that name produced upon him. 

Abruptly rising he turned toward Mr. Livingstone, saying, 
“¢ You were telling me about a fine species of cactus which you 
have in your yard—suppose we go and see it.”’ 

The cactus having been duly examined, praised, and com. 
mented upon, Mr. Graham casually remarked, ‘‘ Your niece is 
a fine-looking girl—’Lena, I think your son called her ?”’ 

‘¢ Yes, or Helena, which was her mother’s name.”’ 

‘«¢ And her mother was your sister, Helena Livingstone?” 

‘© No, sir, Nichols. I changed my name to gratify a fancy 
of my wife,” returned Mr. Livingstone, thinking it better te 
tell the truth at once. 

Again Mr. Graham bent over the cactus, inspecting it mi- 
nutely, and keeping his face for a long time concealed from his 
friend, whose thoughts, as was usually the case when his sister 
was mentioned, were far back in the past. When at last Mr. 
Graham lifted his head there were no traces of the stormy emo- 
tio.s which had shaken his very heart-strings, and with a firm, 
composed step he walked back to the parlor, where he found 
both Mrs. Livingstone and Carrie just paying their respects to 
his lady. 

Nothing could be more marked than the difference between 
Carrie’s and ’Lena’s manner toward Mrs. Graham. Even 
Durward noticed it, and while he could not sufficiently admire 
the quiet self-possession of the latter, who in her simple morning 
wrapper and linen collar had met his mother on perfectly equal 
terms, he for the first time in his life felt a kind of contempt 
(pity he called it,) for Carrie, who, in an elegantly embroid- 
ered double-gown confined by a rich cord and tassels, which 
almost swept the floor, treated his mother with a fawning ser- 
vility as disgusting to him as it was pleasing to the lady in ques- 
tion. Accustomed to the utmost deference on account of her 
wealth and her husband’s station, Mrs. Graham had felt as if 


53 ZENA RIVERS. 


something were withheld from her, when neither Mrs. Living- 
stone nor her daughters rushed to receive and welcome her ; 
but now all was forgotten, for nothing could be more flattering 
than their attentions. Both mother and daughter having the 
son in view, did their best, and when at last Mrs. Graham 
asked to be shown to her room, Carrie, instead of ringing for a 
servant, offered to conduct her thither herself; whereupon 
Mrs. Graham laid her hand caressingly upon her shoulders, 
calling her a ‘dear little pet,’’? and asking ‘‘ where she stole 
those bright,’ naughty eyes ! ”’ 

A smothered laugh from John Jr. and a certain low soft 
sound which he was in the habit of producing when desirous 
of reminding his sister of her wzose, made the ‘‘ bright, naughty 
eyes’’ flash so angrily, that even Durward noticed it, and won- 
dered if ’Lena’s temper had not been transferred to her cousin. 

‘‘That young girl—’Lena, I think you call her—is a rela~ 
tive of yours,’”’ said Mrs. Graham to Carrie, as they were as- 
cending the stairs. 

** Ye-es, our cousin, I suppose,’’ answered Carrie. 

‘*She bears a very aristocratic name, that of Rivers—does 
she belong to a Virginia family ?”’ | 

Carrie iooked mysterious and answered, ‘‘I never knew any- 
thing of her father, and indeed, I:reckon no one does ’’—then 
after a moment she added, ‘‘ Almost every family has some ob- 
jectionable relative, with which they could willingly dispense.*’ 

** Very true,’’ returned Mrs. Graham. ‘‘What a pity we 
couldn’t all have been born in England. There, dear, you 
can leave me now.” 

Accordingly Carrie started for the parlor, meeting in the 
hall her mother, who was in a sea of trouble concerning the 
dinner. ** Old Milly,” she said, ‘‘had gone to bed out of pure 
natefulness, pretending she had got a col/apse, as she called 

‘‘Can’t Hagar do,’”’ asked Carrie, anxious that Mrs. Gra- 
ham’s first dinner with them should be in style. 

** Yes, but she can’t do everything—somebody must super- 
intend her, and as for burning myself brown over the dishes 
and then coming to the table, I won’t.”’ 

**Why not make ’Lena go into the kitchen—it won’t hurt 
her to-day more than it did yesterday,’’ suggested Carrie. 

“‘A good idea,” returned her mother, and stepping to the 
parlor door she called ’Lena from a most interesting conversation 
with Mr. Graham, who, the moment his wife was gone, had 


aN 
eo ee 


LENA RIVERS. 89 


taken a seat by her side, and now seemed oblivious to all else 
save her. ~ 

There was a strange tenderness in the tones of his voice and 
in the expression of his eyes as they rested upon her, and Dur- 
ward, who well knew his mother’s peculiarities, felt glad that 
she was not present, while at the same time he wondered that 
his father should appear so deeply interested in an entire 
stranger. 

‘¢’Lena, I wish to speak with you,’’ said Mrs. Livingstone, 
appearing at the door, and ’Lena, gracefully excusing herself, 
left the room, while Mr. Graham commenced pacing the floor 
in a slow, abstracted manner, ever and anon wiping away the 
beaded drops which stood thickly on his forehead. 

Meantime, "Lena, having learned for what she was warted, 
went without a word to the kitchen, though her proud nature 
rebelled, and it was with difficulty she could force down the 
bitter spirit which she felt rising within her. Had her aunt or 
Carrie shared her labors, or nad the former asked instead of 
commanded her to go, she wouid have done it willingly. But 
now in quite a perturbed state of mind she bent over pastry 
and pudding, scarcely knowing which was which, until a pleas- 
ant voice at her side made her start, and looking up she saw 
Anna, who had just returned from her walk, and who on learn- 
ing how matters stood, declared her intention of helping too. 

‘Tf there’s anything I like, it’s being in a muss,’ Said she, 
and throwing aside her leghorn hat, pinning up her sleeves, 
and fastening back her curls in imitation of ’Lena, she was 
soon up to her elbows in cooking—her dress literally covered 
with flour, eggs, and cream, and her face as red as the currant 
jelly which Hagar brought from the china closet. ‘‘There’s a 
pie fit for a queen or Lady Graham either,’’ said she, deposit: 
ing in the huge oven her first attempt in the pie line. 

But alas! Malcolm Everett’s words of love spoken beneath 
the wide-spreading sycamore were still ringing in Anna’s ears, 


‘so it was no wonder she saéted the custard instead of sweetening 


it. But no one noticed the mistake, and when the pie was 
done, both "Lena and Hagar praised its white, uncurdled ap-, 
pearance. 

‘¢ Now we shall just have time to change our dresses,’’ said 
Anna, when everything pertaining to the dinner was in readi- 
ness, but ’Lena, knowing how flushed and heated she was, and 
remembering Durward’s distaste of high colors, announced her 
determination of not appearing at the table. 


~ 


bali LENA RIVERS. 


‘‘T shall see that grandma is nicely dressed,” said she, * and 
you must look after her a little, for I shall not come down.” 

So saying she ran up to her room, where she found Mrs. 
Nichols in a great state of fermentation to know ‘‘ who was be- 
low, and what the doin’s was. I should of gone down,’’ said 
she, *‘but I know’d ’Tilda would be madder’n a hornet.’’ 

*Lena commended her discretion in remaining where she was, 
and then informing her that Mr. Bellmont’s father and mother 
were there, she proceeded to make some alterations in her dress. 
The handsome black silk and neat lace cap, both the Christmas 
gift of John Jr., were donned, and then, staff in hand, the old 
lady started for the dining-room, ’Lena giving her numerous 
charges not to talk much, and on no account to mention ee 
favorite topic—Nancy Scovandyke ! ! 

‘‘Nancy’s as good any day as Miss Graham, if she did 
marry a live lord,’’ was grandma’s mental comment, as the 
jast-mentioned lady, rustling in a heavy brocade and loaded 
down with jewelry, took her place at the table. 

Purposely, Mrs. Livingstone omitted an introduction which 
her husband, through fear of her, perhaps, failed to give. 
But not so with John Jr. To besure, he cared not a fig, on 
his grandmother’s account, whether she were introduced or not, 
for he well knew she would not hesitate to make their ac- 
quaintance ; but knowing how it would annoy his mother and 
Carrie, he called out, in a loud tone, ‘‘ My grandmother, Mrs. 
Nichols—Mr. and Mrs. Graham.” 

Mr. Graham started so quickly that his wife asked ‘if any- 
thing stung him.’’ 

<‘ Yes—no,’’ said he, at the same time indicating that it was 
not worth while to mind it. 

‘Got stung, have you?’ said Mrs. Nichols. ‘‘ Mebby 
’twas a bumbie-bee—seems ’sef I smelt one; but like enough 
it’s the scent on Car’line’s handkercher.”’ 

Mrs. Graham frowned majestically, but it was entirely lost 
on grandma, who, after a time, forgetful of ’Lena’s caution, 
said, ‘‘I b’lieve they say you’re from Virginny !”’ 

‘‘ Yes, madam, Virginia is my native state,’’ returned Mrs. 
Graham, clipping off each word as if it were burning her 
tongue. 

«¢ Anywheres near Richmond ?”’ continued Mrs. Nichols. 

‘Twas born in Richmond, madam. Hy 

«‘Law, now! who knows but you’re well acquainted with 
Nancy Scovandyke’ s kin.” 


LENA RIVERS. 91 


Mrs. Graham turned as red as the cranberry sauce upon her 
plate, as she replied, «‘ ve not the honor of knowing either 
Miss Scovandyke or any of her relatives.’ 

“¢ Wall, she’s a smart, likely gal, or woman I s’pose you’d 
call her, bein’ she’s just the age of my son.’ 

Here Mrs. Nichols, suddenly remembering ’Lena’s charge, 
stopped, but John Jr., who loved to see the fun go on, started 
her again, by asking what relatives Miss Scovandyke had in 
Virginia. 

<‘’Leny told me not to mention Nancy, but bein’ you’ve 
asked a civil question, ’tain’t more’n fair for me to answer it. 
Better’n forty year ago Nancy’s mother’s aunt ’’— 

‘‘Which would be Miss Nancy’s great-aunt,’’ interrupted 
John Jr. 

‘¢ Bless the boy,’’ returned the old lady, ‘‘he’s got the 
Nichols’ head for figgerin’. Yes, Nancy’s great-aunt though 
she was six years and two months younger’n Nancy’s mother, 
Wall, as I was sayin’, she went off to Virginny to teach music. 
She was prouder’n Lucifer, and after a spell she married a 
southerner, rich as a Jew, and then she never took no more 
notice of her folks to hum, than’s ef they hadn’t been. But 
the poor critter didn’t live long to enjoy it, for when her first 
baby was born, she died. ’Twas a little girl, but her folks in 
Massachusetts have never heard a word whether she’s dead or 
alive. Joel Slocum, that’s Nancy’s nephew, says he means to 
go down there some day, and look her up, but I wouldn’t 
bother with ’em, for that side of the house always did feel big, 
and above Nancy’s folks, thinkin’ Nancy’s mother marmicd be- 
neath her.” 

Mrs. Graham must have enjoyed her dinner very hae, for 
during grandma’s recital she applied herself assiduously to her 
plate, never once looking up, while her face and neck were 
literally spotted, either with heat, excitement or anger. These 
spots at last attracted Mrs. Nichols’ attention, causing her to 
ask the lady ‘‘if she warn’t pestered with erysipelas.”’ 

‘‘T am not aware of it, madam,’’ answered Mrs. Graham, 
and grandma replied, ‘It looks mighty like it to me, and I’ve 
seen a good deal on’t, for Nancy Scovandyke has allers had it 
more or less. Now I think on’t,’’ she continued, as if bent on 
tormenting her companion, ‘‘ now I think on’t, you look quite 
a considerable like Nancy—the same forehead and complexion | 
—only she’s a head taller. Hain’t you noticed it, John ?” 

‘¢ No, I have not,’’ answered John, at the same time propos- 


ve LENA RIVERS. 


ing a change in the conversation, as he presumed ‘they had 
all heard enough of Nancy Scovandyke.” 

At this moment the dessert appeared, and with it nna’s pie. 
John Jr. was the first to taste it, and with an expression of dis- 
gust he exclaimed, ‘‘ Horror, mother, who made this pie ?”’ 

Mrs. Livingstone needed but one glance at her guests to 
know that something was wrong, and darting an angry frown 
at Hagar, who was busy at a side-table, she wondered ‘if 
there ever was any one who had so much trouble with servants 
as herself.’’ 

Anna saw the gathering storm, and knowing full well that it 
would burst on poor Hagar’s head, spoke out, ‘ Hagar is not 
in the fault, mother—no one bot myself is to, blame, é made 
the pie, and must have put in salt instead of sugar.’ 

<‘You made the pie!’’ repeated Mrs. Livingstone, angrily. 
*‘ What business had you in tne kitchen? Pity we hadn't a 
few more servants, for then we should all be obliged to turn 
drudges.”’ 

Anna was about to reply, when John Jr. prevented her, by 
asking, ‘if it hurt his sister to be in the kitchen any more than 
it did ’Lena, who,’ he said. ** worked there both yesterday 
and to-day, burning herself until she 1s ashamed to appear at 
the table.’’ 

Mortified beyond measure at what had occurred, Mrs. Liv- 
ingstone hastened to explain that her servants were nearly all 
sick, and that in her dilemma, ’Lena had volunteered her serv- 
ices, adding by way of compliment, undoubtedly, that ‘‘ her 
niece seemed peculiarly adapted to such work—indeed, that 
her forte lay among pots and kettles.”’ 

An expression of scorn, unusuai to Mr. Graham, passed over 
his face, and in a sarcastic tone he asked Mrs. Livingstone, 
“if she thought it detracted from a young lady’s worth, to be 
skilled in whatever pertained to the domestic affairs of a 
family.’ 

Ready to turn whichever way the wind did, Mrs. Living» 
stone replied, ‘‘ Not at all—not atall. I mean that my daugh- 
ters shail learn everything, so that their husbands will find in 
them every necessary qualification.”’ 

‘¢’Then you confidently expect them to catch husbands some 
time or other,’’ said John Jr., whereupon Carrie blushed, and 
looked very interesting, while Anna retorted, ‘‘ Of course we 
shall. I wouldn’t be an old maid for the world—lI’d run 
away first 1”? 


Wicca. 


LENA RIVERS. Be 


And amidst the laughter which this speech called forth the com. 
pany retired from the table. For some time past, Mrs. Nichols 
had walked with a cane, limping even then. Observing this, 
Mr. Graham, with his usual gallantry, offered her his arm, 
which she willingly accepted, casting a look of triumph upon 
her daughter-in-law, who apparently was not so well pleased. 
So thorough had been grandma’s training, that she did not 
often venture into the parlor without a special invitaticn from 
its mistress, but on this occasion, Mr. Graham led her in there 
as a matter of course, and placing her upon the si:fa, seated 
himself by her side, and commenced questioning her concern- 
ing her former home and history. Never in her life had Mrs, 
‘Nichols felt more communicative, and never before had she so 
attentive a listener. Particularly did he hang upon every word, 
when she told him of her Helena, of her exceeding beauty, 
her untimely death, and rascallv husband. 

‘‘ Rivers—Rivers,’’ said he. ‘what kind of a looking man 
was he?”’ 

‘The Lord only knows—I never see him,’ returned Mrs, 
Nichols. ‘‘But this much I do know, he was one scandalous 
villain, and if an old woman’s curses can do him any harm, 
he’s had mine a plenty of times.”’ 

‘‘ You do wrong to talk so,’’ said Mr. Graham, * for whe 
knows how bitterly he may have repented of the great wrong 
done to your daughter.’’ : 

‘¢Then why in the name of common sense don’t he hunt up 
her child, and own her—he needn’t be ashamed of ’Leny.”’ 

‘¢ Very true,’ answered Mr. Graham. ‘‘No one need be 
ashamed of her. I should be proud to call her my daughter. 
But as I was saying, perhaps this Rivers has married a second 
time, keeping his first marriage a secret from his wife, who is 
so proud and high-spirited that now, after the lapse of years, 
he dares not tell her for fear of what might follow.’’ 

‘‘Then she’s a good-for-nothing, stuck-up thing, and he’s a 
cowardly puppy! ‘That’s my opinion on ’em, and I’ll tell ’em 
so, if ever I see’em!’’ exclaimed Mrs. Nichols, her wrath 
waxing warmer and warmer toward the destroyer of her daugh- 
ter. 
Pausing for breath, she helped herself to a pinch of her 
favorite Maccaboy, and then passed it to Mr. Graham, who, to 
her astonishment, took some, slyly casting it aside when she 
did not see him. ‘This emboldened the old lady to offer it to 
Mrs. Graham, who, languidly reclining wpon the end oi the 


94 LENA RIVERS. 


sofa, sat talking to Carvie, who, on a low stool at her feet, was 
looking up into her face as if in perfect admiration. Without 
deigning other reply than a haughty shake of the head, Mrs. 
Graham cast a deprecating glance toward Carrie, who mut- 
tered, ‘‘ How disgusting! But for pa’s sake we tolerate it.” 

Here ’Lena entered the parlor, very neatly dressed, and 
looking fresh and blooming as a rose. ‘Théré was no vacant 
seat near except one between Durward and John Jr., which, at 
she invitation of the latter, she accepted. A peculiar smile 
flitted over Carrie’s face, which was noticed by Mrs. Graham, 
and on ibuted to the right cause. Ere long Durward, John 
Jr., Lena and Anna, who had joined them, left the house, and 
from the window Carrie saw that they were amusing themselves 
by playing ‘‘Graces.’’ Gradually the sound of their voices 
increased, and as ’Lena’s clear, musical laugh rang out above 
the rest, Mrs. Graham and Carrie looked out just in time to 
see Durward holding the struggling girl, while John Jr. claimed 
the reward of his having thrown the « grace hoop’’ upon her 
head. 

Inexpressibly shocked, the precise Mrs. Graham asked, 
‘‘What &ivd of a girl is your cousin?’”’ to which Carrie re- 
plied, ‘‘ You have a fair sample of her,”’ at the same time nod- 
ding toward ’Lena, who was unmercifully pulling John Jr.’s 
ears as a reward for his presumption. 

‘¢ Rather hoydenish, I should think,”’ returned Mrs. Graham, 
secretly hoping Durward would not become enamored of her. 

At length the party left the yard, and Tepaing to the gar- 
den, sat down in one of the arbor bridges, where they were 
joined by Malcolm Everett, who naturally, and as a matter of 
course, appropriated Anna to himself. Durward observed this, 
and when he saw them walk away together, while ’Lena ap- 
peared wholly unconcerned, he began to think that possibly 
Mrs. Livingstone was mistaken when she hinted of an engage- 
ment between her niece and Mr. Everett. Knowing John Jr.’s 
straightforward way of speaking, he determined to sound him, 
so he said, ‘* Your sister and Mr. Everett evidently prefer 
each other’s society to ours.”’ 

«Oh, yes,’’ answered John. ‘I saw that years ago, when 
Anna wasn’t knee-high; and I’m glad of it, for Everett is a 
mighty fine fellow.’ 

"Lena, too, united in praising her teacher, until Durward 
felt certain that she had never entertained for him any feeling 
stronger than that of friendship ; and as to her flirting seriously 


LENA RIVERS. OF 


with Captain Atherton, the idea was too preposterous to be 
harbored for a single moment. Once exonerated from these 
charges, it was strange how fast ’Lena rose in his estimation, 
and when John Jr., with a loud yawn, asked if they did not 
wish he would leave them alone, more in earnest than in fun 
Durward replied, ‘‘ Yes, yes, do.”’ 

‘‘T reckon I will,’’ said John, shaking down his tight pants, 
and pulling at his long coat sleeves. ‘I never want anybody 
round when I’m with Nellie Douglass.” 

So saying, he walked off, leaving Durward and ’Lena alone. 
That neither of them felt at all sorry, was proved by the length 
of time which they remained together, for when more than an 
hour afterward Mrs. Graham proposed to Carrie to take a turn 
in the garden, she found the young couple still in the arbor, so 
wholly engrossed that they neither saw nor heard her until she 
stood before them. 

"Lena was an excellent horsewoman, and Durward had just 
proposed a ride early the next morning, when his mother, forc- 
ing down her wrath, laid her hand on his shoulder, and as if 


»the proposition had come from ’Lena instead of her son, she 


said, ‘*No, no, Miss Rivers, Durward can’t go—he has got to 
drive me over to Woodlawn, together with Carrie and Anna, 
whom I have asked to accompany me; so you see ’twill be im- 
possible for him to ride with you.”’ 

‘Unless she goes with us,” interrupted Durward. ‘* You 
would like to visit Woodlawn, would you not, Miss Rivers?” 

**Qh, very much,’”’ was ’Lena’s reply, while Mrs. Graham 
continued, ‘‘I am sorry I cannot extend my invitation to Miss 
Rivers, but our carriage will be full, and I cannot endure to be 
crewded.”’ 

‘Tt has carried six many a time,’’ said Durward, “and if 
she will go, I will take you on my lap, or anywhere.’’ 

Of course ’Lena declined—he knew she would—and deter- 
mined not to be outwitted by his mother, whose aim he saw, 
he continued, ‘‘I shan’t release you from your engagement to 
ride with me. We will start early and get back before mother 
is up, sO our excursion will in no way interfere with my driving 
her to Woodlawn after breakfast.’’ 

Mrs. Graham was too polite to raise any further objection, 
but resolving not to leave them to finish their ¢éte-a-téfe, she 
threw herself upon one of the seats, and commenced talking te 
her son, while Carrie, burning with jealousy and vexation, 
started for the house, where she laid her grievances before her 


96 LENA RIVERS. 


mother, wuv, cqually enraged, declared. her intention of ‘* here. 
after watching the vixen pretty closely.’’ 

«¢ And she’s going to ride with him to-morrow morning, you 
say. Well, I fancy I can prevent that.” 

‘‘How?’’ asked Carrie, eagerly, and her mother replied, 
«©You know she always rides Fleetfoot, which now, with the 
other horses, is in the Grattan woods, two miles away. Of 
course she’ll order Cesar to bring him up to the stable, but 
I shall countermand that order, bidding him say nothing 
to her about it. He dare not disobey me, and when in the 
morning she asks for the pony, he can tell her just how it is.”’ 

<¢ Capital ! capital !’’ exclaimed Carrie, never suspecting that 
there had been a listener, even John Jr., who all the while was 
sitting in the back parlor. 

‘“‘Whew!”’ thought the young man. ‘Plotting, are they? 
Well, I'll see how good I am at counterplotting.”’ 

So, slipping quietly out of the house, he went in quest of his 
servant, Bill, telling him to go after Fleetfoot, whom he was to 
put in the lower stable instead of the one where she was usually 
kept; ‘‘and then in the morning, long before the sun is up,’’ 
said he, **do you have her at the door for one of the young 
ladies to ride.”’ 

‘© Yes, marster,’’ answered Bill, looking around for his old 
straw hat. 

‘¢ Now, see how quick you can go,’’ John jr. continued, 
adding as an incentive to haste, that if Bill would get the pony 
stabled before old Czesar, who had gone to Versailles, should 
return, he would give him ten cents. 

Bill needed no other inducement than the promise of money, 
and without stopping to find his hat, he started off bare- 
headed, upon the run, returning in the course of an hour and 
claiming his reward, as Ceesar had not yet got home. 

«All right,’’ said John Jr., tossing him the silver. ‘‘ And 
how remember to keep your tongue between your teeth.”’ 

Bill had kept too many secrets for his young master to think 
of tattling about something which to him seemed of no conse- 
quence whatever, and he walked off, eying his dime, and wish- 
ing he could earn one so easily every day. 

Meantime John Jr. sought out ’Lena, to whom he said, 
¢ And so you are going to ride to-morrow morning ?”’ 

‘¢ How did you know ?”’ she asked, and John, looking very 
wise, replied, that ‘little girls should not ask too many ques- 
tions,’’ adding, that as he supposed she would of course want 


& 


> 


be. 


# 


yr 7 re 


\ 
ue 





LENA RIVERS. 93 


Fleetfoot, he had ordered Bill to have her at the door early in 
the morning. ' 

‘‘Much obliged,’’ answered "Lena. ‘I was about giving it 
up when I heard the pony was in the Grattan woods, for Ceesar 
is so cross I hated to ask him to go for her; but now T’ll say 
nothing to him about it.”’ 

That night when Czesar was eating his supper in the kitchen, 
his mistress suddenly appeared, asking ‘‘ if he had received any 
orders to go for Fleetfoot.’’ 

The old negro, who was naturally cross, began to scowl. 
*¢ No, miss, and Lord knows I don’t want to tote clar off to the 
Grattan woods to-night.” 

‘“You needn’t, either, and if any one tells you to go don’t 
you do it,’’ returned Mrs. Livingstone. 

‘¢Somebody’s playin’ possum, that’s sartin,” thought Bill, 
who was present, and began putting things together. ‘‘Some- 
body’s playin’ possum, but they don’t catch this child leakin’.”’ 

‘¢Have you told him?’’ whispered Carrie, meeting her 
mother in the hall. 

Mrs. Livingstone nodded, adding in an undertone, that ‘‘ she 
presumed the ride was given up, as ’Lena had said nothing to 
Ceesar about the pony.”’ 

With her mind thus at ease, Carrie returned to the parlor, 
where she commenced talking to Mrs. Graham of their pro- 
jected visit to Woodlawn, dwelling upon it as if it had been a 
tour to Europe, and evidently exulting that ‘Lena, was to bs 
left behind. 


ae 


CHAPTER XI. 
WOODLAWN. 


NeExT morning, long before the sun appeared above the east- 
em horizon, Fleetfoot, attended by Bill, stood before the door 
saddled and waiting for its young rider, while near by it was 
Firelock, which Durward had borrowed of John Jr. At last 
"Lena appeared, and if Durward had admired her beauty be- 
fore, his admiration was now greatly increased when he saw how 
well she looked in her neatly fitting riding dress and tastetul 
straw hat. After bidding her good-morning, he advanced to 
assist her in mounting, but declining his offer, she with one 
bound sprang into the saddle. 





98 LENA RIVERS. 


<‘Jumps like a toad,’’ said Bill. ‘¢ Ain’t stite ome clumsy 
like Miss Carrie, who allus has to be done sot on.” 

At a word from Durward they galloped briskly away, the 
clatter of their horses’ hoofs arousing and bringing to the win- 
dow Mrs. Graham, who had a suspicion of what was going on. 
Pushing aside the silken curtain, she looked uneasily after 
them, wondering if in reality her son cared aught for the grace- 
ful creature at his side, and thinking if he did, how hard she 
would labor to overcome his liking. Mrs. Graham was not the 
only one who watched them, for fearing lest Biil should not 
awake, John Jr. had foregone his morning nap, himself calling 
up the negro, and now from his window he, too, looked after 
them until they entered upon the turnpike and were lost to 
view. ‘Then, with some very complimentary reflections upon 
*Lena’s riding, he returned to his pillow, thinking to himself, 
*‘There’s a girl worth having. By Jove, if I’d never seen 
Nellie Douglass, and "Lena wasn’t my cousin, wouldn’t I keep 
mother in the hysterics most of the time!” 

On reaching the turnpike, Durward halted, while he asked 
Lena ‘‘ where she wished to go.”’ 

‘Anywhere you please,’’ said she, ‘when, for reasons of his 
own, he proposed that they should ride over to Woodlawn. 

"Lena was certainly excusable if she felt a secret feeling of 
satisfaction in thinking she was after all the first of the family 
to visit Woodlawn, of which she had heard so much, that it 
seemed like a perfect Eldorado. It was a grand old building, 
standing on a cross road about three miles from the turnpike, 
and commanding quite an extensive view of the country 
around. It was formerly owned by a wealthy Englishman, 
who spent his winters in New Orleans and his summers in the 
country. The year before he had died insolvent, Woodlawn 
falling into the hands of his creditors, who now offered it for 
sale, together with the gorgeous furniture which still remained 
just as the family had left it. ‘To the left of the building was 
a large, handsome park, in which the former owner had kept a 
number of deer, and now as Durward and ’Lena rode up and 
down the shaded avenues, these graceful creatures would oc- 
poy spring up and bound away with the fleetness of the 
wind. 

The garden and yard in front were laid out with perfect 
taste, the former combining both the useful and the agreeable. 
A luxurious grapevine wreathed itself over the arched entrance, 
whue the wide, graveled walks were bordered, some with box, 


LENA RIVERS. OG 


and others with choice flowers, now choked and overgrown with 
weeds, but showing marks of great beauty, when properly 
tended and cared for. At the extremity of the principal walk, 
which extended the entire length of the garden, was a summer- 
house, fitted up with everything which could make it attractive, 
during the sultry heat of summer, while farther on through the 
little gate was a handsome grove or sontinuation of the park, 
with many well-beaten paths winding through it and terminating 
finally at the side of a tiny sheet of water, which within a few 
years had forced itsel? through the limestone soil natural to 
Kentucky. 

Owing to some old feud, the English family had not been 
on visiting terms with the Livingstones; consequently, ’Lena 
had never before been at Woodlawn, and her admiration in- 
creased with every step, and when at last they entered the 
house and stood within the elegant drawing-rooms, it knew no 
bounds. She remembered the time when she had thought her 
uncle’s furniture splendid beyond anything in the world, but it 
could not compare with the magnificence around her, and fora 
few moments she stood as if transfixed with astonishment. 
Durward had been highly amused at her enthusiastic remarks 
concerning the grounds, and now noticing her silence, he asked 
‘¢ what was the matter ?’’ 

‘Oh, I am half-afraid to speak, lest this beautiful room 
should prove an illusion and fade away,’’ said she. 

‘¢ Ts it then so much more beautiful than anything you ever saw 
before? ’’ he asked ; and she replied, “Oh, yes, far more so,”’ 
at the same time giving him a laughable description of her 
amazement when she first saw the inside of her uncile’s house, 
and ending by saying, ‘‘ But you can imagine it all, for you saw 
me in the cars, and can judge pretty well what were my ideas 
of the world.”’ 

Wishing to see if ’Lena would attempt to conceal her former 
humble mode of living Durward said, ‘‘I have never heard 
anything concerning your eastern home and how you lived 
there—will you please to tell me?” 

‘‘There’s nothing to tell which will interest you,’’ answered 
*Lena; but Durward thought there was, and leading her to a 
sofa, he bade her commence. 

Durward had a peculiar way of making people co what he 
pleased, and now at his bidding ’Lena told him of her moun- 
tain-home, with its low roof, bare walls, and oaken ficors—of 
herself, when, a bare-footed little girl, she picked Auchéederries 


“ 


100 LENA BIVERS. 


with Joe? Slocum! And then, in lower and more subdued 
tones, she spoke of her mother’s grave in the valley, near 
which her beloved grandfather—the only father she had ever 
known—was now sleeping. ~’Lena never spoke of her grand- 
father without weeping. She could not help it. Her tears 
came naturally, as they did when first they told her he was 
dead, and now laying her head upon the arm of the sofa, she 
sobbed like a child. 

Durward’s sympathies were all enlisted, and without stopping 
to consider the propriety or impropriety of the act, he drew her 
gently toward him, trying to soothe her grief, calling her ’ Lena, 
and smoothing back the curls which had fallen over her face. 
As soon as possible ’Lena released herself from him, and dry- 
ing her tears, proposed that they should go over the house, as 
it was nearly time for them to return home. Accordingly, they 
passed on through room after room, ’Lena’s quick eye taking 
in and appreciating everything which she saw, while Durward 
was no less lost in admiration of her, for speaking of herself so 
frankly as she had done. Many young ladies, he well knew, 
would shrink from acknowledging that their home was once in 
a brown, old-fashioned house among wild and rugged moun- 
tains, and ’Lena’s truthfulness in speaking not only of this, 
but many similar things connected with her early history, in- 
spired him with a respect of her which he had never before felt 
for any young lady of his acquaintance. 

But little was said by either of them as they went over the 
house, until Durward, prompted by something he could not re- 
sist suddenly asked his companion ‘‘ how she would like to be 
mistress of Woodlawn ?’”’ | 

Had it been Carrie to whom this question was put, she would 
have blushed and simpered, expecting nothing short of an im- 
mediate offer, but "Lena quickly replied, ‘‘ Not at all,’’ laugh- 
ingly giving as an insuperable objection, ‘‘ the size of the house 
and the number of windows she would have to wash !”” 

With a loud laugh Durward proposed that they should now 
return home, and again mounting their horses, they started for 
Maple Grove, which they reached just after the family had fin- 
ished breakfast. With the first ring of the bell, John Jr., eager 
not to lose an iota of what might occur, was at the table, and 
when his mother and Carrie, anxious at the non-appearance of 
Durward and ‘Lena, cast wisttui giances toward each other, ne 
very indifferently asked Mrs. Graham ‘‘if her son had returned 
from his ride.”’ 


tf 
e 


ii ttre 





—— a 


aes eS 


“LENA RIVERS, 101. 


«¢¥7ve not seen him,’’ answered the lady, her scowl deepen- 
ing and her lower jaw dropping slightly, as it usually did when 
she was ill at ease. 

‘Who's gone to ride?’’ asked Mr. Graham; and John Jr. 
replied that Durward and ’Lena had been riding nearly twa 
hours, adding, that ‘‘ they must find each other exceedingly in- 
teresting to be gone so long.”’ 

This last was for the express benefit of his mother, whose 
frown kept company with Mrs. Graham’s scowl. Chopping her 
steak into mince-meat, and almost biting a piece from her cup 
as she sipped her coffee, she at last found voice to ask, ‘ what 
horse "Lena rode! ”’ 

‘¢ Fleetfoot, of course,’’ said John Jr., at the same time tell- 
ing his father he thought ‘‘he ought to give "Lena a pony of 
her own, for she was accounted the best rider in the county, 
and Fleetfoot was getting old and clumsy.” 

The moment breakfast was over, Mrs. Livingstone went in - 
quest of Cesar, whom she abused for disobeying her orders, 
threatening hina with the calaboose, and anything else which 
came to her mind. Old Cesar was taken by surprise, and be- 
ing rather slow of speech, was trying to think of gometl hing to 
say, when John Jr., who.had followed his mother, came to his 
aid, saying that <¢ he himself had sent Bill for Fleetfoot,’’ and 
adding aside to his mother, that ‘‘the next time she and Cad 
were plotting mischief he’d advise them to see who was in the 
back parlor !”’ 

Always ready to suspect ’Lena of evil, Mrs. Livingstone im- 
anediately supposed it was she who had listened; but before 
she could frame a reply, John Jr. walked off, leaving her unde- 
cided whether to cowhide Cesar, ’Lena, or her son, the first of 
whom, taking advantage of the pause followed the example of 
his young master and stole away. ‘The tramp of horses’ feet 
was now heard, and Mrs. Livingstone, mentally resolving that 
Fleetfoot should be sold, repaired to the door in time to see 
Durward carefully lift "Lena from her pony and place her upon 
the ground. Mrs. Graham, Carrie, and Anna were all stand- 
ing upon the piazza, and as Lena came up the walk, her eyes 


sparkling and her bright face glowing with exercise, Anna ex- /* 


claimed, ‘‘Isn’t she beautiful?’’ at the same time asking her 
“where she had beet.” 

‘“¢To Woodlawn,’’ answered ’Lena. 

“©To Woodlawn !’’ repeated Mrs. Graham. 

“<€o Woodlawn!” echoed Mrs. Livingstone, while Carne 


103 LENA RIVERS. 


brought up the rear by exclaiming, ‘‘To Woodlawn! pray 
what took you there? ’’ 

‘©The pony,’’ answered ’Lena, as she passed into the house. 

Thinking it best to put Mrs. Graham on her guard, Mrs. 
Livingstone said to her, in a low tone, ‘‘I would advise you to 
keep an eye upon your son, if he i is at all susceptible, for there 
is no bound to ’Lena’s ambition.’’ 

Mrs. Graham made no direct reply, but the flashing of her 
little grey eye was a sufficient answer, and satisfied with the re- 
sult of her caution, Mrs. Livingstone reéntered’ the house. 
Two hours afterward, the carriage stood at the door waiting to 
convey the party to Woodlawn. It had been arranged that 
Mrs. Graham, Carrie, Anna, and Durward should ride.n the 
carriage, while Mr. Graham went on horseback. Purposely, 
Carrie loitered behind her companions, who being first, of 
course took the back seat, leaving her the privilege of riding 
by the side of Durward. ‘This was exactly what she wanted, 
and leaning back on her elbow, she complacently awaited his 
coming. But how was she chagrined, when, in his stead, ap- 
peared Mr. Graham, who sprang into the carriage and took a 
seat beside her, saying to his wife’s look of inquiry as John Jr. 
had concluded to go, Durward preferred riding on horseback 
with him, adding, in his usually polite way, ‘‘ And I, you 
know, would always rather go with the ladies. But where is 
Miss Rivers ?’’ he continued. ‘‘ Why isn’t she here?’”’ 

‘¢ Simply because she wasn’t invited, I suppose,’’ returned 
his wife, detecting the disappointment in his face. 

‘‘Not invited !’’ he repeated ; ‘‘I didn’t know as this trip 
was of sufficient consequence to need a special invitation. I 
‘thought, of course, she was here ”’ 

‘Or you would have gone on 1 horseback,” said his ite 
ever ready to catch at straws. 

Mr. Graham saw the rising jealousy in time to repress the 
truthful answer—‘* Yes’’—-while he compromised the matter 
by saying: that ‘‘the presence of three fair ladies ought to sat- 
isfy him.” 

Carrie was too much disappointed even to smile, and donne 
all the ride she was extremely taciturn, hardly replying at all to 
Mr. Graham’s lively sallies, and winning golden laurels in the 
opinion of Mrs. Graham, who secretly thought her husband al- 
together too agreeable. As they turned into the long avenue 
which led to Woodlawn, and Carrie thought of the ride which 
"Lena hed enjoyed alone with its owner—for such was Dur- 


A 
a 


ae ae oes ea ie ee ee 


yet 


a aie 


LENA RIVERS. 103 


ward reported to be—her heart swelled with bitterness toward 
her cousin, in whom she saw a dreaded rival. But when they 
reached the house, and Durward assisted her to alight, keeping 
at her side while they walked over the grounds, her jealousy 
vanished, and with her sweetest smile she looked up into his 
face, affecting a world of childish simplicity, and making, as 
she believed, a very favorable impression. 

‘¢T wonder if you are as much pleased with Woodlawn as 
your cousin,’’ said Durward, noticing that her mind seemed to 
be more intent on foreign subjects than the scenery around her. 

‘¢Oh, no, I dare say not,’’ returned Carrie. ‘‘’Lena was 
never accustomed to anything until she came to Kentucky, and 
now I suppose she thinks she mus? go into ecstasies over every- 
thing, though I sometimes wish she wouldn’t betray her igno- 
rance quite so often.”’ 

<¢ According to her description, her home in Massachusetts 


_ was widely different from her present one,’’ said Durward, and 


Carrie quickly replied, ‘‘I wonder now if she bored you with 
an account of her former home! You must have been edified, 
and had a delightful ride, I declare.” 

‘¢And I assure you I never had a pleasanter one, for Miss 
Rivers is, I think, an exceedingly agreeable companion,’’ re- 
turned Durward, beginning to see the drift of her remarks. 

Here Mr. Graham called to his son, and excusing himself 
from Carrie, he did not again return to her until it was time to 
go home. Meantime, at Maple Grove, Mrs. Livingstone, ix 
the worst possible humor, was finding fault with poor "Lena 
accusing her of eavesdropping, and asking her if she did nq 
begin to believe the old adage, that listeners never heard an,, 
good of themselves. In perfect astonishment ’Lena demanded 
what she meant, saying she had never, to her knowledge, been 
guilty of listening. 

Without any explanation, whatever, Mrs. Livingstone de- 
clared herself ‘‘ satisfied now, for a person who would listen 
and then deny it, was capable of almost anything.” 

«‘What do you mean, madam ?”’ said ’Lena, her temper get- 
ting the ascendency. ‘‘ Explain yourself, for no one shall ac- 
cuse me of lying without an attempt to prove it.”’ 

With a sneer Mrs. Livingstone replied, ‘‘ 1 wonder what you 
can do! Will you bring to your assistance some one of your 
numerous admirers? ”’ 

‘¢ Admirers! What admirers?’’ asked ’Lena, and her aunt 
replied, ‘‘I’ll give you credit for feigning the best ox any one I 


204 LENA RIVERS. 


ever saw, but you can’t deceive me. I know very well of your 
intrigues to.entrap Mr. Bellmont. But it is not strange that 
you should inherit something of your mother’s nature, and you 
know what she was!’”’ 

This was too much, and with eyes flashing fire through the 
glittering tears, which shone like diamonds, ’Lena sprang to 
her feet, exclaiming, ‘‘ Yes, I do know what she was. She was 
a far more worthy woman than you, and if in my presence you 
dare again breathe aught against her name, you shall rue it ’’— 
_ That she shall, so help me heaven,’’ murmured a voice 
near, which neither Mrs. Livingstone nor ’Lena heard, nor 
were they aware of any one’s presence until Mr. Graham sud- 
denly appeared in the doorway. 

At his wife’s request he had exchanged places with his son, 
and riding on before the rest, had reached home first, being 
just in time to overhear the last part of the conversation be- 
tween Mrs. Livingstone and ‘Lena. Instantly changing her 
manner, Mrs. Livingstone motioned her niece from the room, 
heaving a deep sigh as the door closed after her, and saying 
that <‘none but those who had tried it knew what a thankless 
job it was to rear the offspring of others.” 

There was a peculiar look in Mr. Graham’s eyes, as he an. 
swered, ‘‘In your case I will gladly relieve you, if my wife is 
willing. Ihave taken a great fancy to Miss Rivers, and would 
like to adopt her as my daughter. i will speak to Mrs. Gra- 
ham to-night.’ 

Much as she disliked ’Lena, Mrs. Livingstone would not for 
the world have her become an inmate of Mr. Graham’s family, 
where she would be constantly thrown in Durward’s way ; and 
immediately changing her tactics, she replied, ‘‘1 thank you 
for your kind offer, but I know my husband would not think of 
such a thing ; neither should I be quite willing for her to leave 
us, much as she troubles me.”’ 

Mr. Graham bowed stiffly, and left the house. ‘That night, 
after he had retired to his room, he seemed unusually distracted, 
pacing up and down the apartment, occasionally pausing to 
gaze out into the moonlit sky, and then resuming his measured 
tread. At last nerving himself to brave the difficulty, he 
stopped before his wife, to whom he made known his plan of 
adopting ’Lena. | 

*< It seems hasty, I know,”’ said he, ‘‘ but she is just the kind 
of person I would like to have round—just such a one as I 
would wish my daughter to be if I had one. In short, I like 





LENA RIVERS. 105 


her, and with your consent I will adopt her as my own, and 
take her from this place where I know she’s not wanted. What 
say EXON Lucy?” 

1 you adopt the old woman too?”’ asked Mrs. Gra- 
ham, whose face was turned away so as to hide its expression. 

‘¢That is an after consideration,’’ returned her husband, 
‘but if you are willing, I will either take her to our home, or 
provide for her elsewhere—but come, what do you say ?””’ 

All this time Mrs. Graham had sat bolt upright, her little 
dumpling hands folded one within the other, the long trans- 
parent nails making deep indentures in the soft flesh, and her 
grey eyes emitting greenz gleams of scorn. The answer her 
husband sought came at length, and was characteristic of the 
woman. Hissing out the words from between her teeth, she 
replied, ‘‘When I take "Lena Rivers into my family for my 
husband and son to make love to, alternately, I shall be ready 
for the lunatic asylum at Lexington.’ 

‘¢ And what objection have you to her ?”’ asked Mr. Gta- 
ham; to which his wife replied, ‘‘ The very fact, sir, that you 
wish. it, is a sufficient reason why I will not have her; besides 
that, you must misjudge me strangely if you think I’d be willing 
for my son to come daily in contact with a girl of her doubtful 
parentage.’’ 

_ What know you of her parentage?’’ said Mr. Graham, 
his lips turning slightly pale. 

‘¢ Yes, what do I know? ”’ answered his wife. ‘‘ Her father, 
if she has any, is a rascal, a villain ”’ 

<¢ Yes, yes, all of that,’’ muttered Mr. Graham, while his wife 
continued, *¢ And her mother a poor, low, mean, ignorant ’’— 

‘Hold!’ thundered Mr. Graham. ‘‘ You shall not spe ie 
so of any woman of whom you know nothing, much less of 
Lena Rivers’ mother.’’ 

‘And pray what do you know of her—is she an old ac- 
quaintance?’’ asked Mrs. Graham, throwing into her manner 
as much of insolence as possible. 

‘s] know,’’ returned . Mr. Graham, ‘that ’Lena’s mother 
could be nothing else than respectable.’’ 

«¢ Undoubt edly ; ; but of this be assured—the daughter shall 
never, by my permission, darken my doors,’’ said Mrs. Graham, 
growing more and more excited, and continuing—‘‘I know 
you of old, Harry Graham; and I know now that your great 
desire to sécure Woodlawn was so as to be near her, but it 
shan’t be.’ 


106 LENA RIVERS. 


In her excitement, Mrs. Graham forgot that it was herself 
who had first suggested Woodlawn as a residence, and that 
until within a day or two her husband and ’Lena were entire 
strangers. But this made no difference. She was bent upon 
being unreasonable, and for nearly an hour she fretted and 
cried, declering herself the most abused of her sex, and wish- 
ing she had never seen her husband, who, in his heart, warmly 
seconded that wish, wisely resolving not to mention the offend- 
ing ’Lena again in the presence of his wife. : 

The next day the bargain for Woodlawn was completed ; 
after which, Mr. and Mrs. Graham, together with Durward, re- 
turned to Louisville, intending to take possession of their new 
home about the first of October. © 





CHAPTER XI. 
MRS. GRAHAM AT HOME. 


As the summer advanced, extensive preparations were com- 
menced for repairing Woodlawn, which was to be fitted up in 
a style suited to the luxurious taste of its rightful owner, which, 
as report said, was in reality Durward. He had conceived a 
fancy for the place five years before, when visiting in the 
neighborhood, and on learning that it was for sale, he had pur- 
chased it, at the suggestion of his mother, proposing to his 
father that for a time, at least, he should be its nominal pos- 
sessor. What reason he had for this he hardly knew himself, 
unless it was that he disliked being flattered as a man of great 
wealth, choosing rather to be esteemed for what he really was.+ 

And, indeed, few of his age were more generally beloved 
than was he. Courteous, kind-hearted, and generous almost to 
a fault, he gained friends wherever he went, and it was with 
some reason that Mrs. Graham thought herself blessed above 
mothers, in the possession of such a son. ‘‘ He is so like me,”’ 
she would say, in speaking of his many virtues, when, in fact, 
there was scarcely anything in common between them, for 
nearly all of Durward’s sterling qualities were either inherited 
from his own father, or the result of many years’ companion- 
ship with his stepfather. Possessed of the most exquisite taste, 
he exercised it in the arrangement of Woodlawn, which, under 
his skilful management, began in a few weeks to assume a more 
beautiful appearance than it had ever before worn. 


LENA RIVERS, 107 


Once in two weeks either Mr. Graham or Durward came out 
to see how matters were progressing, the latter usually accept- 
ing Mrs. Livingstone’s pressing invitation to make her house his 
home. ‘This he was the more willing to do, as it threw him 
into the society of "Lena, who was fast becoming an object of 
absorbing interest to him. ‘The more he saw of her, the more 
was his admiration increased, and oftentimes, when joked con- 
cerning his preference for Carrie, he smiled to think how 
people were deceived, determining, however, to keep his own 
secret until such time as he should be convinced that ’Lena 
was all he could desire in a wife. For her poverty and humble 
birth he cared nothing. If she were poor, he was rich, and he 
possessed too much good sense to deem himself better than 
she, because the blood of a nobleman flowed in his veins. He 
knew that she was highly gifted and beautiful, and could he be 
assured that she was equally true-hearted, he would not hesitate 
a moment, 

But Mrs. Livingstone’s insinuation that she was a heartless 
coquette, troubled him, and though he could not believe it with- 
out more proof than he had yet received, he determined to 
wait and watch, studying her character, the while, to see if 
there was in her aught of evil. In this state of affairs, it was 
hardly more than natural that his manner toward her should be 
rather more reserved than that which he assumed toward Car- 
rie, for whom he cared nothing, and with whom he talked, 
laughed, and rode, forgetting her the moment she was out of 
his sight, and never suspecting how much importance she at- 
tached to his every word and look, construing into tokens of 
admiration the most casual remark, such as he would utter to 
any one. This was of advantage to ’Lena, for, secure of their 
prize, both Mrs. Livingstone and Carrie, for a time, at least, 
ceased to persecute her, seldom speaking of her in Durward’s 
presence, and, as a general thing, acting as though she were 
not in existence. 

John Jr., too, who had imposed upon himself the duty of 
watching his mother and sister, seeing no signs of hostility, now 
withdrew his espionage, amusing himself, instead, by galloping 
three times a week over to Frankfort, the home of Nellie Doug- 
lass, and by keeping an eye upon Captain Atherton, who, as a 
spider would watch a fly, was lying in wait for the unsuspect- 
ing Anna. 

At last all was in readiness at Woodlawn for the reception of 
Mrs. Graham, who came up early in October, bringing with hea 


108 | LENA RIVERS. 


a larger train of house servants than was often seen in Wood 
ford county. About three weeks after her arrival, invitations 
were issued for a party or ‘‘house warming,’’ as the negroes 
termed it. Nero, Durward’s valet, brought the tiny notes to 
Mr. Livingstone’s, giving them into the care of Carrie, who 
took them immediately to her mother’s room. 

‘It’s Durwaid’s handwriting,’’ said she, glancing at the 
puperscriptions, and reading as she did so—‘‘ Mr. and Mrs. 
Livingstone ’’—‘*‘Mr. John Livingstone, Jr.’’—*‘‘ Miss Carrie 
Livingstone ’’—‘* Miss Anna Livingstone’’—‘‘ A/fiss ’ Lena 
Rivers ;’’ and here she stopped, in utter dismay, continuing, as 
her mother looked up inquiringly—‘‘ And as I live, one for 
grandma— Mrs. Martua Nicuots!’”’ 

‘Impossible !’’ exclaimed Mrs. Livingstone, reaching out 
her hand for the billet. ‘* Yes, ’tis Mrs. Martha Nichols !— 
what can it mean P”’ 

A peep behind the scenes would have told her what it meant. 
For once in his life Mr. Graham had exercised the right of be- 
ing master in his own house, declaring that if Mrs. Nichols 
were not invited with the family, there should be no party at 
all. Mrs. Graham saw that he was in earnest, and yielded the 
point, knowing that in all probability the old lady would not be 
permitted to attend. Her husband had expected a like opposi- 
tion with regard to Lena, but he was disappointed, for his 
wife, forgetting her declaration that ’Lena should never darken 
her doors and thinking it would not do to slight her, consented ' 
that, on her uncle’s account, she should be invited. Accord- 
ingly, the rotes were despatched, producing the effect we have 
seen. 

<‘ How perfectly ridiculous to invite grandma !’’ said Carrie. 
‘«Jt’s bad enough to have ’Lena stuck in with us, for of course 
she'll go.” 

‘¢Why of course ?’’ asked Mrs. Livingstone. <‘‘ The invita- 
tions are at my disposal now; and if I choose to withhold two 
of them, no one will be blamed but Nero, who was careless and 
dropped them! ’Lena has nothing decent to wear, and I don’t 
feel like expending much more for a person so ungrateful as she ~ 
is. You ought to have heard, how impudent she was that time 
you all went to Woodlawn.” 

Then followed a one-sided description of that morning’s oc- 
currence, Mrs. Livingstone working herself up to such a pitch 
of excitement, that before her recital was finished, she had de- 
termined at all events to keep back ’Lena’s invitation, as a 


LENA RIVERS. 109 


method of punishing her for her *insolence,’’ as she termed 
it. 

‘¢Mrs. Graham will thank me for it, I know,” said she, <<‘ for 
she cannot endure her; and besides that, I don’t think ’Lena 
expects to be invited, so there’s no harm done.”’ 

Carrie was not yet quite so hardened as her mother, and for 
a moment her better nature shrank from so mean a transaction, 
which might, after all, be found out, involving them in a still 
worse difficulty ; but as the thought flashed upon her that possi- 
bly ’Lena might again attract Durward toward her, she assented, 
and they were about putting the notes aside, when John Jr. 
came in, catching up his grandmother’s note the first thing, 
and exclaiming, ‘‘Oh, rich /—capital’ I hope she'll go!” 
Then, before his mother could interpose a word, he darted 
away in quest of Mrs. Nichols, whose surprise was fully equal 
to that of Mrs. Livingstone and Carrie. 

*¢Now, you don’t say I’ve got an invite,’’ said she, leaving 
the darning-needle in the stocking-heel which she was mend- 
ing, and wiping her steel-bowed spectacles. ‘‘ Come, ’Leny, 
you read it, that’s a good girl.”’ 

*Lena complied, and taking the note from her cousin’s hand, 
read that Mrs. Graham would be at home Thursday evening, 
etc. 

‘< But where’s the invite? That don’t say anything about 
me!” said Mrs. Nichols, beginning to fear that it was a hum- 
bug after all. 

As well as they could, "Lena and John Jr. explained it to 
her, and then, fully convinced that she was really invited, 
Mrs. Nichois began to wonder what she should wear, and how 
she should go, asking John ‘‘if he couldn’t tackle up and carry 
her in the shay,’’ as she called the single buggy. 

‘¢Certainly,’’ answered John Jr., willing to do anything for 
the sake of the fun which he knew would ensue from his grand- 
mother’s attendance. 

"Lena thought otherwise, for much as she desired to gratify 
her grandmother, she would not for the world expose her to 
the ridicule which her appearance at a fashiorable party would 
call forth. Glancing reprovingly at her cousin, she said, “I 
wouldn’t think of going, grandma, for you are lame and old, 
wid there’ll be so many people there, all strangers, too, that 
you won’t enjoy it at all. Besides that, we'll have a nice ume 
at home together—I’ll read to you all the evening.” 

‘* We,’' repeated John Jr. ‘‘ Pray, are you not going?” 


# 
110 LENA RIVERS, 


¢¢ Not without an invitation,’’ said "Lena, smilingly. 

‘‘True, true,’’ returned. her cousin. ‘It’s downstairs, { 
dare say. I only stopped to look at this. I'll go and get 
yours now.”’ 

Suiting the action to the word, he descended to his mother’s 
room, asking for ‘*’Lena’s card. ” 

«’Lena’s card! What do you mean?” said Mrs. Living- 
stone, looking up from the book she was reading, while Carrie 
for a moment suspended her needle-work. 

<«’Tena’s invitation; you know well enough what I mean,’’ 
returned John Jr., tumbling over the notes which lay upon the 
table, and failing to find the one for which he was seeking. 

‘<You’ll have to ask Mrs. Graham for it, I presume, as it’s 
not here,’’? was Mrs. Livingstone’s quiet answer. 

‘¢Thunder !’’ roared John Jr., **’Lena not invited! That’s 
a smart caper. But there’s some mistake about it, I know. 
Who brought them ?’”’ 

‘“<Nero prought them,’’ said Carrie, ‘‘and I think it is 
strange that grandmother should be invited and ’Lena left out. 
But I suppose Mrs. Graham has her reasons. She don’t seem 
to fancy ’Lena much.” 

<‘Mrs. Graham go to grass,’’? muttered John Jr., leaving the 
room and slamming the door after him with great violence. 

"Twas a pity he did not look in one of ‘the drawers of his 
mother’s work-box, for there, safe and sound, lay the missing 
note! But he did not think of that. He ‘only knew that 
"Lena was slighted, and for the next two hours he raved and 
fretted, sometimes declaring he would not go, and again wish- 
ing Mrs. Graham in a temperature but little suited to her 
round, fat proportions, 

ae Wall, if they feel too big to invite ’Leny, they needn't ex- 
pect to see me there, that’s just all there is about it,’’ said 
grandma, settling herself in her rocking-chair, and telling ’Lena 
«¢ she wouldn’t care an atom if she’s in her place.” 

But ’Lena did care. No one likes to be slighted, and she 
was not an exception to the general rule. Owing to her aunt’s 
skilful management she had never yet attended a large party, 
and it was but natural that she should now wish to go. But 
it could not be, and she was obliged to content herself with the 
wopes of a minute description from Anna; Carrie she would 
not trust, far she well knew that whatever she told would be 
greatly exaggerated. 

Mrs. Graham undoubtedty wished te give her friends amm» 





LENA RIVERS. 1it 


time to prepare, for her invitations were issued nearly a week 
in advance. ‘This suited Carrie, who had a longer time to de- 
cide upon what would be becoming, and when at last a deci- 
sion was made, she could do nothing but talk about her dress, 
which really was beautiful, consisting of a pink and white silk, 
with an overskirt of soft, rich lace. This, after it was com- 
pleted, was tried on at least half a dozen times, and the effect 
carefully studied before the long mirror. Anna, who cared 
much less for dress than her sister, decided upon a black 
flounced skirt and velvet basque. This was Mr. Everett’s 
taste, and whatever suited him suited her. 

<‘T do think it’s too bad that ’Lena is not invited,’ said she 
one day, when Carrie, as usual, was discussing the party. 
‘¢ She would enjoy it so much. I don’t understand, either, 
why she is omitted, for Mr. Graham seemed to like her, and 
Durward too ’’ — 

‘©A great ways off, you mean,’’ interrupted Carrie. ‘‘ For 
my part, I see nothing strange in the omission. It is no worse 
to leave her out than scores of others who will not be invited.’ 

‘But to come into the house and ask all but her,’’ said 
Anna. ‘It does not seem right. She is as good as we 
are.”’ 

‘‘That’s as people think,’’ returned Carrie, while John Jr., 
who was just going out to ride, and had stopped a moment at 
the door, exclaimed, ‘‘Zounds, Cad, I wonder if you fancy 
yourself better than "Lena Rivers. If you do, you are the 
only one that thinks so. Why, you can’t begin to compare 
with her, and it’s a confounded shame that she isn’t invited, 
and so I shall tell them if I have a good chance." 

¢¢ You'll look smart fishing for an invitation, won’t you?” 
said Carrie, her fears instantly aroused, but John Jr. was out of 
her hearing almost before the words were uttered. 

Mounting Firelock, he started off for Versailles, falling in 
with Durward, who was bound for the same place. After the 
usual greetings were exchanged, Durward said, ‘‘ I suppose you 
are all coming on Thursday night P”’ 

“© Yes,’’ returned John Jr., ‘‘I believe the old folks, Cad, 
and Anna intend doing so.”’ 

«¢ But where’s Miss Rivers? Doesn’t she honor us with her 
presence ?’’ asked Durward, in some concern. 

John Jr.’s first impulse, as he afterward said, was ‘‘ to knock 
him off from his horse,’’ but a second thought convinced him 
there might be some mistake; so he replied that ‘‘it was 


113 LENA RIVERS. + 


hardly to be supposed Miss Rivers would attend without an ite 
vitation—she wasn’t quite so verdant as that !”’ 

‘¢ Without an invitation !’’ repeated Durward, stopping short 
in the road. “*’Lena not invited! It isn’t so! I directed 
bne to her myself, and gave it to Nero, together with the rest 
‘which were designed for your family. He must have lost it. 
1’ll ask him the moment I get home, and sée that it is all made 
tight. Ske must come, anyway, for I wouldn’t give — 

Here he stopped, as if he had said too much, but John Jr. 
finished the sentence for him. 

‘¢Wouldn’t give a picayune for the whole affair without her 
—that’s what you mean, and why not say so? I speak right 
out about Nellie, and she isn’t one half as handsome as ’Lena.”’ 

«Tt isn’t ’Lena’s beauty that I admire altogether,”’ returned 
Durward. ‘I like her for her frankness, and because I think 
her conduct is actuated by the best of principles; perhaps 1 
am mistaken ’’— 

‘¢No, you are not,’’ again interrupted John Jr., ‘‘’Lena is 
just what she seems to be. ‘There’s no deception in her. She 
isn’t one thing to-day and another to-morrow. © Spunky as the 
old Nick, you know, but still she governs her temper admirably, 
and between you and me, I know I’m a better man than I 
should have been had ‘she never come to live with us. How 
well I remember the first time I saw her,’”’ he continued, re- 
peating to Durward the particulars of their interview in Lex- 
ington, and describing her introduction to his sisters. ‘‘ From 
the moment she refused to tell that lie for me, I liked her,”’ 
said he, ‘‘and when she dealt me that blow in my face, my ad- 
miration was complete.”’ 

Durward thought he could dispense with the blow, but he 
laughed heartily at John’s description of his spirited cousin, 
thinking, too, how different was Azs opinion of her from that 
which his mother evidently entertained. Still, if Mrs. Living- 
stone was prejudiced, John Jr. might also be somewhat biased, 
so he would not yet make up his mind; but on one thing he 
was resolved—she should be invited, and for fear of contin- 
gencies, he would carry the card himself. 

Accordingly, on his return home, Nero was closely ques- 
tioned, and negro-like, called down all manner of evil upon 
himself “if he done drapped the note any whar. ‘’Strue as I 
live and breathe, Mas’r Bellmont,’’ said he, ‘¢T done carried 
Mics ’Leny’s invite with the rest, and guv ’em all to the young 
lady with the big nose !”’ 


5k a ee oe 





ee ee ee 


rap ae 


Oe ee ee 


323g 


LENA RIVERS. 413 


| 


Had purward understood Mrs. Livingstone a little better, 
he might have believea him, but now it was but natural for 
him to suppose that vero had accidentally dropped it. So he 
wrote another, taking it himself, and asking for ‘‘ Miss Rivers.’* 
Carrie, who was in the parlor and saw him coming up to the 
house, instantly flew to the glass, smoothing her collar, puffing 
out her hair a little more, pinching her cheek, which was not 
Juite so red as usual, and wishing that she was alone But 
unfortunately, both Anna and ’Lena were present, and as there 
was no means of being rid of them, she retained her seat at 
the piano, carelessly turning over the leaves of her music boox, 
when the door opened and Corinda, not Durward, appeared. 

‘If you please, Miss ’Lena,’’ said the girl, ‘ Marster Belle 
mont want to speak with you in the hall.” 

‘With ’Lena! How funny!’’ exclaimed Carrie., “Are 
you sure it was ’Lenar’’ 

6¢ Yes, sure--he done ask for Miss Rivers.”’ 

‘¢Ask him in, why don’t you?”’ said Carriv, suspecting his 
errand, and thinking to keep herself from all suspicion by ap- 
nearing ‘‘ wonderfully pleased ’’ that "Lena was not intention- 
ally neglected. Before Corinda could reply, ’Lena haa 
stepped into the hali, and was standing face to face with Dur- 
ward, who retained her hand, while he asked if ‘‘she really 
believed they intended to slight her,’’ at the same time expilain- 
ing how it came to his knowledge, and saying “‘ he hoped she 
would not fail to attend.’”’ 

"Lena hesitated but he pressed her so hard, saying he should 
surely think she qistrusted them if she refused, that she finally 
consented, and he took his leave, playfully threatening to come 
for her himself it she were not there with the rest. | 

<‘ You feel better, now, don’t you? ’’ said Carrie with a sneer, 
as ’Lena re€nterea tne parior. 

«© Yes, a great deal,’’ was ’Lena’s truthft: answer, 

¢¢Oh, I’m real giad!” exclaimed Anna. ‘I most knew 
twas a mistak+ ai} the time, and I did so want you to go. 

hat will you wear? et me see. Why, you haven't got 
anything suitable, have you?” 

This was true, for "Lena had nothing fit for the occasion, 
and she was beginning to wish she had nes been invited, when 
her uncle came m, and to him Anna forthwith stated the case, 
saying "Lena must nave a new Cress, anc suggesting embroid- 
ered muslin. 

“‘ How ridiculous!’’ muttered Carrie, thrumming away a 


114 LENA RIVERS. 


the piano. ‘There’s no time to make dresses aow. They 
should have invited her earlier.’’ 

«© Isn’t Miss Simpson still here? ’’ asked her father. 

Anna replied that she was, and then turning to "Lena, Mr. 
Livingstone asked if ‘* she wanted to go very much.” 

The tears which shone in her eyes were a sufficient answer, 
and when at supper that night, inquiry was made for Mr. Liv- 
ingstone, it was said that he had gone to Frankfort. 

‘‘To Frankfort!’’ repeated his wife. ‘‘ What has he gone 
there for ?’”’ 

No one knew until late in the evening, when he returned 
home, bringing with him ’Lena’s dress, which Anna pro- 
nounced ‘‘the sweetest thing she ever saw,”’ at the same time 
running with it to her cousin. ‘There was company in the 
parlor, which for a time kept down the gathering storm in Mrs. 
Livingstone’s face, but the moment they were gone, and she 
was alone with her husband in their room, it burst forth, and 
in angry tones she demanded ‘‘ what he meant by spending her 
money that way, and without her consent ?”’ 

Before making any reply, Mr. Livingstone stepped to her 
work-box, and opening the little drawer, held to view the miss- 
ing note. ‘Then turning to his wife, whose face was very pale, 
he said, ‘‘This morning I made a discovery which exonerates 
Nero from all blame. I understand it fully, and while 1 knew 
you were capable of almost anything, I must say I did not 
think you would be guilty of quite so mean an act. Stay,’’ he 
continued, as he saw her about to speak, ‘‘ you are my wife, 
and as ’Lena is at last invited, your secret is safe, but remem- 
ber, it must not be repeated. You understand me, do youP”’ 

Mrs. Livingstone was struck dumb with mortification and 
astonishment—the first, that she was detected, and the last, 
that her husband dare assume such language toward her. But 
he had her in his power—she knew that—and for a time it 
rendered her very docile, causing her to consult with Miss 
Simpson concerning the fitting of ’Lena’s dress, herself stand- 
ing by when it was done, and suggesting one or two improve- 
ments, until "Lena, perfectly bewildered, wondered what had 
come over her aunt, that she should be so unusually kind. 
Carrie, too, learning from her mother how matters stood, 
thought proper to change her manner, and while in her heart 
she hoped something would occur to keep ’Lena at home, she 
loudly expressed her pleasure that she was going, offering to 
lend her several little ornaments, and doing many things which 


¢ 








LENA RIVERS. 115 


puzzled ’Lena, who readily saw that she was feigning what she 
did not feel. 

Meanwhile, grandma, learning that "Lena was invited, de- 
clared her intention of going. ‘I shouldn’t of gin up in the 
first on’t,’’ said she, ‘‘only I wanted to show ’em proper re- 
sentment; but now it’s different, and Pll go, anyway— Tilda 
may say what she’s a mind to.’”’ — 

It was in vain that ’Lena reasoned the case. Grandma was 
decided, and it was not until both her son and daughter in- 
terfered, the one advising and the other commanding her to 
stay at home, that she yielded with a burst of tears, for grandma 
was now in her second childhood, and easily moved. “Tt was 
terrible to ’Lena to see her grandmother weep, and twining her 
arms around her neck, she tried to soothe her, saying, ‘‘she 
would willingly stay at home with her if she wished it.” 

Mrs. Nichols was not selfish enough to suffer this. ‘‘ No, 
*Leny,’’ said she, ‘‘I want you to go and enjoy yourself while 
you are young, for you’ll sometime be old and in the way; ’ 
and the old creature covered her face with her shriveled hands 
and wept. 

But she was of too cheerful a nature long to remember grief, 
and drying her tears, she soon forgot her trouble in the pride 
and satisfaction which she felt when she saw how well the 
white muslin became ’Lena, who, John Jr. said, never looked 
so beautifully as she did when arrayed for the party. Mr. 
Livingstone had not been sparing of his money when he pur- 
chased the party dress, which was a richly embroidered muslin, 
and fell in soft folds around ’Lena’s graceful figure... Her long, 
flowing curls were intertwined with a few natural flowers, her 
only attempt at ornament of any kind, and, indeed, ornaments 
would have been sadly out of place on ‘Lena. 

It was between nine and ten when the party from Maple 
Grove reached Woodlawn, where they found a large company 
assembled, some in the drawing-rooms below, and others still 
lingering at the toilet in the dressing chamber. Among these last 
were Nellie Douglass and Mabel Ross, the latter of whom Mrs. 
Livingstone was perfectly delighted to see, overwhelming her 
with caresses, and urging her to stop for a while at Maple Grove. 

*<T shall be so glad tu have you with us, and the country air 
will, do you so.much good, that you must not refuse,’’ said she, 
pinching Mabel’s sallow cheek, and stroking her straight, glossy 
hair, which, in contrast with the bandeau of pearls that she 
wore, looked dark as midnight. 


rst LENA RIVERS. 


Spite of her wealth, Mabel had long been accustomed to 
neglect, and there was something so X:nd in Mrs. Livingstone’s 
motherly demeanor, that the hea.” »€ the young orphan warmed 
toward her, and tears glitterea in her large, mournful eyes, the 
only beauty, save ‘her hair, of which she could boast. Very 
few had ever cared for poor Mabel, who, though warm-hearted 
' and affectionate, required to be known in orde: to be appre- 
ciated, and as she was naturally shy and retiring, there were 
not many who felt at all acquainted with hér | Left alone in 
the world at avery early age, she had never known what it 
was to possess a real, disinterested friend, unless we except Nel- 
lie Douglass, who, while there was nothing + ongenial between 
them, had always tried to treat Mabel as she herself would wish 
to be treated, were she in like circumstances. 

Many had professed friendship for the sake of the gain which 
they knew would accrue, for shc was gererous to a fault, be- 
stowing with a lavish hand upon those whom she loved, and 
who had too often proved false, denouncing her as utterly spir- 
itless and insipid. So often had she been deceived, that now, 
at the age of eighteen, she had learned to distrust her fellow-crea~ 
tures, and oftentimes in secret would shz weep bitterly over her 
lonely condition, lamenting the plain face and unattractive man- 
ners, which she fancied rendered her an object of dislike. Stilt 
there was about her a depth of feeling of which none had ever 
dreamed, and it only required a skilfui hand to mold her inte 
an altogether different being. She was, perhaps, too easily in- 
fluenced, for in spite of her distrust, a pleasant word or kind 
look would win her to almost anything. 

Of this weakness Mrs. Livingstone seemed well aware, and 
for the better accomplishment of her plan, she deemed it nec- 
essary that Mabel should believe her to be the best friend she 
had in the world. Accordingly, she now flattered and petted 
her, calling her ‘‘darling,’’ and ‘‘dearest,’’ and urging her to 
stop at Maple Grove, until she consented, ‘providing Nellie 
Douglass were willing.’’ 

‘‘Oh, I don’t care,’’ answered Nellie, whose gay, dashing 
disposition poorly accorded with the listless, sickly Mabel, and 


- who felt it rather a relief than otherwise to be rid of her. 


Se it was decided that she should stay at Maple Grove, an@ 
then Mrs. Livingstone, passing her arm around her waist, 
whispered, ‘‘ Go down with me,’’ at the same time starting fo. 
the parlor, followed by her daughters, Nellie, and “Lena. In 
the til they met with John Jr. He had heard Nellie’s voice, 





LENA hIVERS. ye 117 


and stationing himself at the head of the stairs, was waiting her 


appearance. 

‘¢ Miss Ross,’’ said Mrs. Livingstone to her son, at the same 
time indicating her willingness to give her into his care. 

But John Jr. would not take the hint. Bowing stiffly to 
Mabel, he passed on toward Nellie, in his eagerness stepping 
on Carrie’s train and drawing from her an exclamation of anger 
at his awkwardness. Mrs. Livingstone glanced backward 
just in time to see the look of affection with which her son re- 
garded Nellie, as she placed her soft hand confidingly upon 
his arm, and gazed upward smilingly into his face. She dared 
not slight Miss Douglass in public, but with a mental invective 
against her, she drew Mabel closer to her side, and smoothing 
down the heavy folds of her mozre antique, entered the drawing- 
room, which was brilliantly lighted, and filled with the beauty 
and fashion of Lexington, Frankfort, and Versailles. 

At the door they met Durward, who, as he took ’Lena’s 
hand, said, ‘‘It is well you remembered your promise, for i 
was about starting after you.’’ This observation did not es- 


cape Mrs. Livingstone, who, besides having her son and Nellie 


under her special cognizance, had also an eye upon her niece 
and Anna. Her espionage of the latter, however, was nor 
needed immediately, owing to her being straightway appropri- 
ated by Captain Atherton, who, in dainty whitc kids, and vest 
to match (the color not the material), strutted back and forth 
with Anna tucked under his arm, until the poor girl was ready 
to cry with vexation. 

When the guests had nearly all arrived, both Mr. Graham 
and Durward started for "Lena, the latter reaching her first, and 
paying her so many little attentions, that the curiosity of others 
was aroused, and frequently was the question asked, ‘* Who is 
she, the beautiful young lady in white mushn and curls?”’ 

Nothing of all this escaped Mrs. Livingstone, and once, in 
passing near her niece, she managed to whisper, ‘‘ Yor heaven’s 
sake don’t show your ignorance of etiquette by taxing Mr. 
Bellmont’s good nature any longer. It’s very improper to claim 
any one’s attention so long, and you are calling forth remarks.”’ 

Then quickly changing the whisper into her softest tor.es, she 
said to Durward, ‘‘ How can you resist such beseeching glances 


as those ladies send toward you ?”’ nodding to a group 5 of girls 


of which Carrie was one. 
’Lena colored scarlet, and gazed wistfully around the room 
im quest of some other shelter when Durward should relinquish 


em ee 


Sp Ta ee 
Se ae Fs ke 


118 LENA RIVERS. 


her, as she felt he would surely do, but none presented itself. 
Her uncle was playing the agreeavle to Miss Atherton, Mr. 
Graham to some other lady, while John Jr. kept closely at 
Nellie’s side, forgetful of all else. 

‘©What shall I do?” said ’Lena, unconsciously and half 
aloud. 

«Stay with me,”’ answered Durward, drawing her hand fur- 
ther within his arm, and bending upon her a look of admira- 
tion which she could not mistake. 

Several times they passed and repassed Mrs. Graham, who 
was highly incensed at her son’s proceedings, and at last actu- 
ally asked him ‘‘if he did not intend noticing any one except 
Miss Rivers,’’ adding, as an agology for her rudeness (for Mrs. 
Graham prided herself upon being very polite in her own 
house), ‘‘she has charms enough to win a dozen gallants, but 
there are others here who need attention from you. ‘There’s 
Miss Livingstone, you’ve hardly spoken with her to-night.’’ 

Thus importuned, Durward released ’Lena and walked away, 
attaching himself to Carrie, who clung to him closer, if possi- 
ble, than did the old captain to Anna. About this time Mr. 
Everett came. He had been necessarily detained, and’now, 
after paying his respects to the host and hostess, he started in 
quest of Anna, who was stiil held ‘‘in durance vile’’ by the 
captain. But the moment she saw Malcolm, she uttered a low 
exclamation of joy, and without a single apology, broke ab- 
ruptly away from her ancient cavalier, whose little watery eyes 
looked daggers after her for an instant ; then consoling himself 
with the reflection that he was tolerably sure of her, do what 
she would, he walked up to her mother, kindly relieving her 
for a time of her charge, who was becoming rather tiresome. 
Frequently, by nods, winks, and frowns, had Mrs. Livingstone 
tried to bring her son to a sense of his improper conduct in de- 
voting himself exclusively to one individual, and neglecting all 
others. 

But her efforts were all in vain. John Jr. was incorrigible, 
slyly whispering to Nellie, that ‘he had no idea of beauing a 
medicine chest.’’ This he said, referring to Mabel’s ill health, 
for among his other oddities, John Jr. had a particular aversion 
to sickly ladies. Of course Nellie reproved him for his unkind 
remarks, at the same time warmly defending Mabel, ‘ who,’’ 

she said, ‘‘had been delicate from infancy, and suffered far 
more than was generally suspected.’’ 

**Let her stay at home, then,’’ was John Jr.’s answer, as he 


LENA RIVERS. 119 


led Nellie toward the supper-rcom, which the company were 
just then entering. ; 

About an hour after supper the guests began to leave, Mrs. 
Livingstone being the first to propose going. As she was as- 
cending the stairs, John Jr. observed that Mabel was with her, 
aid turning to ’Lena, who now leaned on his arm, he said, 
‘ There goes the future Mrs. John Jr.—so mother thinks !”’ 

«¢ Where ?’’ asked ’Lena, looking around. 

‘Why, there,’’ continued John, pointing toward Mabel. 
‘¢Haven’t you noticed with what parental solicitude mother 
watches over her P”’ 

‘‘I saw them together,’’ answered ’Lena, ‘‘ and I thought it 
very kind in my aunt, for no one else seemed to notice her, and 
I felt sorry for her. She is going home with us, I believe.” 

‘‘Going home with ws /’”’ repeated John Jr. ‘*In the name 
of the people, what is she zoing home with us for?”’ 

“‘Why,’’ returned "Lena, ‘‘ your mother thinks the country 
air will do her good.”’ 

«¢ Un-doubtedly,”’ said John, with asneer. ‘* Mother’s mo- 
tives are usually very disinterested. I wonder she don’t pro- 
pose to the old captain to take up /zs quarters with us, so she 
can nurse him! ”’ 

With this state of feeling, it was hardly natural that John Jr. 
should be very polite toward Mabel, and when his mother 
asked him to help her into the carriage, he complied so un- 
graciously, that Mabel observed it, and looked wonderingly at 
her fatroness for an explanation. 

‘‘Only one of his freaks, love—he’ll get over it,’’ said Mrs. 
Livingstone, while poor Mabel sinking back among the cush- 
ions, wept silently, thinking that everybody hated her. 

When ’Lena came down to bid her host and hostess good- 
night, the former retained her hand, while he expressed his sor- 
row at her leaving so soon. ‘‘ I meant to have seen more of 
you,” said he, ‘‘but you must visit us often—will you not ?’’ 

Neither the action nor the words escaped Mrs. Graham’s ob- 
servation, and the lecture which she that night read her offend- 
ing spouse, had the effect to keep him awake until the morning 
was growing grey in the east. Then, when he was asleep, he 
so far forgot himself and the wide-open ears beside him as ac- 
tually to breathe the name of ’Zena in his dreams ! 

Mrs. Graham needed no farther confirmation of her suspi- 
cions, and at the breakfast-table next morning, she gave her 
son a lengthened account of her husband’s great sin in dream- 


1286 LENA RIVERS. 


ing of a young girl, and that girl "Lena Rivers. Durward 
laughed heartily and then, either to tease his mother, or to 
make his father’s guilt less heinous in her eyes, he replied, < It 
is a little singular that our minds should run in the same chan- 
nel, for I, too, dreamed of ’Lena Rivers.!”’ 

Poor Mrs. Graham. A double task was now imposed upon 
her—that of watching both husband and son; but she was ac- 
customed to it, for her life, since her second marriage, had been 
one continued series of watching for evil where there was none. 
And now, with a growing hatred toward ’Lena, she determined 
to increase her vigilance, feeling sure she should discover some- 
thing i€ she only continued faithful to the end. 





CHAPTER XIIL 
MABEL. 


THE morning following the party, Mr. Livingstone’s family 
were assembled in the parlor, discussing the various events of 
the previous night. John Jr., ’Lena, and Anna declared them- 
selves to have been highly pleased with everything, while Car- 
rie in the worst of humors, pronounced it ‘‘a perfect bore,” 
saying she never had so disagreeable a time in all her life, and 
ending her ill-natured remarks by a malicious thrust at ’Lena, 
for having so long kept Mr. Bellmont at her side. 

‘«« T suppose you fancy he would have looked better with you, 
but I think he showed his good taste by preferring ’Lena,’’ said 
jonr Jr.; then turning toward the large easy-chair, where 
Mabel sat, pale, weary, and spiritless, he asked ‘‘ how she had 
' @ujoyed herself.” 

With the exception of his accustomed ‘* good-morning,”’ this 
was the first time he had that day addressed her, and it was so 
unexpected, that it brought a bright glow to her cheek, making 
John Jr. think she was ‘not so horribly ugly after all.”’ 

But she was very unfortunate in her answer, which was, 
‘‘that on account of her ill health, she seldom enjoyed any- 
thing of the kind.” Then pressing her hand upon her fore- 
head, she continued, ‘‘ My head is aching dreadfully, as a pun- 
ishment for last night’ s dissipation.”’ 

Three times before, he had heard her speak of her aching 
head, and now, with an impatient gesture, he was turning away, 


LENA RIVERS. 121 


when his mother said, ‘‘ Poor giri, she really looks miserable. 
J think a ride would do her good. Suppose you take her with 
you—I heard you say you were going to Versailles.” 

If there was anything in which Mabel excelled, it was horse- 
manship, she being a better rider, if possible, than "Lena, and 
now, at Mrs. Livingstone’s proposition, she looked up cagerly 
at John Jr., who replied, , 

§ Oh, hang it all! mother, I can’t always be bothered with a 
ead Oaae then as he saw how Mabel’s countenance fell, he con- 
tinued, ‘‘ Let ’Lena ride with her—-she wants to, I know!” 

‘«‘ Certainly,’”’ said ’Lena, whose heart warmed toward the 
orphan girl, partly because she was an orphan, and partly be- 
cause she saw that she was neglected and unloved. 

As yet Mabel cared nothing for John Jr., nor even suspected 
his mother’s object in detaining her as a guest. So when ’Lena 
was proposed as a substitute, she seemed equally well pleased, 
and the young man, as he walked off to order the ponies, men- 
tally termed himself a bear for his rudeness; ‘ for after all,’’ 
thought he, ‘it’s mother who has designs upon me, not Mabel. 
She isn’t to blame.’’ 

This opinion once satisfactory settled, it was strange how 
soon John Jr. began to be sociable with Mabel, finding her 
much more agreeable than he had at first supposed, and even 
acknowledging to "Lena that ‘‘she was a good deal of a girl, 
after all, were it not for her everlasting headaches and the smell 
of medini ‘ine,’ ’ which he declared she always carried about with 
her. 

«¢ Hush-sh,”’ said ’"Lena—‘ you shan’t talk SO, for she is sick 
a great deal, ‘and she does not feign it, either.” 

‘‘ Perhaps not,’’ returned John Jr., “but she can at least 
keep her miserable feelings to herself. Nobody wants to know 
how many times she’s been blistered and bled ! ’ 

Still John Jr. acknowledged that there were some things in Ma- 
bel which he liked, for no one could live long with her and not 
admire her gentleness and uncommon sweetness of disposition, 
which manifested itself in numerous little acts of kindness to 
those around her. Never before in her life had she been so 
constantly associated with a young gentleman, and as she was 
quite susceptible, it is hardly more than natural that erelong 
thoughts of John Jr. mingled in both her sleeping and waking 
dreams. She could not understand him, but the more his 
changeful moods puzzled her, the more she felt interested in 
him, and her eyes would alternately sparkle at a kind word 


122 LENA RIVERS. 

from him, or fill with tears at the abruptness of his speeches ; 
while he seemed to take special delight in seeing how easily he 
could move her from one extreme to the other. 

Silently Mrs. Livingstone looked on, carefully noting each 
change, and warily calculating its result. Not once since Ma- 
bel became an inmate of her family had she mentioned her to 
her son, for she deemed it best to wait, and let matters take 
their course. But at last, anxious to know his real opinion, she 
determined to sound him. Accordingly, one day when they 
were alone, she spoke of Mabel, asking him if he did not think 
she improved upon acquaintance, at the same time enumerating 
her many excellent qualities, and saying that whoever married 
her would get a prize, to say nothing of a fortune. 

Quickly comprehending the drift of her remarks, John Jr. 
replied, ‘*I dare say, and whoever wishes for both prize and 
fortune, is welcome to them for all me.’’ 

‘‘T thought you liked Mabel,’’ said his mother; and John 
answered, ‘‘So I do like her, but for pity’s sake, is a man 
obliged to marry every girl he likes? Mabel does very well to 
tease and amuse one, but when you come to the marrying part, 
why, that’s another thing.”’ 

«And what objection have you to her, 
mother, growing very fidgety and red. 

«¢ Several,’ returned John. ‘‘She nas altogether too many 
aches and pains to suit me; then she has no spirit whatever ; 
and last, but not least, I like somebody else. So, mother mine, 
you may as well give up all hopes of that hundred thousand 
down in Alabama, for I shall never marry Mabel Ross, never.’’ 

Mrs. Livingstone was now not only red and fidgety but very 
angry, and, in an elevated tone of voice, she said, ‘‘ I s’pose 
it’s Nellie Douglass you mean ; but if you knew all of her that 
I do, I reckon ’’— 

Here she paused, insinuating that she could tell something 
dreadful, if she would! But John Jr. took no notice of her 
hints, and when he got a chance, he replied, ‘‘ You are quite a 
Yankee at guessing, for if Nellie will have me, I surely will 
have her.’’ 

«¢ Marry her, then,’’ retorted his mother—‘ marry her with 
all her poverty, but for heaven’s sake, don't give so much en- 
couragement to a poor defenseless girl.”’ 

Wishing Mabel in Guinea, and declaring he’d neither speak 
to nor look at her again, if common civilities were construed 
into encouragement, John Jr. strode out of the room, determin- 


”> continued his 


LENA RIVERS. 123 


in,. as che surest method of ending the trouble, to go forthwith 
to Nellie, and in a plain, straightforward way make her an offer 
of himself. With him, to will was to do, and in about an hour 
hé was descending the long hill which leads into Frankfort. 
Unfortunately, Nellie had gone for a few weeks to Madison, 
and again mounting Firelock, the young man galloped back, 
reaching home just as the family were sitting down to supper. 
Not feeling hungry, and wishing to avoid, as long as possible, 
the sight of his mother and Mabel, whom he believed were 
leagued against him, he repaired to the parlor, whistling loudly, 
and making much more noise than was at all necessary. 

‘«<If you please, Mr. Livingstone, won’t you be a little more 
quiet, for my head aches so hard to-night,” said a languid 
voice, from the depths of the huge easy-chair which stood be- 
fore the glowing grate. 

Glancing toward what he had at first supposed to be a bundle 
of shawls, John Jr. saw Mabel Ross, her forehead bandaged up 
and her lips white as ashes, while the purple rings about her 
heavy eyes, told of the pain she was enduring. 

‘«‘ Thunder !’’ was John’s exclamation, as he strode from thr 
room, slamming together the door with unusual force. 

When Mrs. Livingstone came in from supper, with a cup of 
hot tea and a slice of toast for Mabel, she was surprised to find 
her sobbing like a child. It did not take long for her to learn 
the cause, and then, as well as she could, she soothed her, tell- 
ing her not to mind John’s freaks—it was his way, and he 
always had a particular aversion to sick people, never liking to 
hear them talk of their ailments. This hint was sufficient for 
Mabel, who ever after strove hard to appear weil and cheerful 
in his presence. But in no way, if he could help it, would he 
notice her. 

Next to Mrs. Livingstone, "Lena was Mabel’s best friend, and 
when she saw how much her cousin’s rudeness and indifference 
pained her, she determined to talk with him about it. So the 
first time they were alone, she broached the subject, speaking 
very kindly of Mabel, and asking if he had any well-grounded 
reason for his uncivil treatment of her. ‘There was no person 
in the world who possessed so much influence over John Jr. as 
did ’Lena, and now, hearing her patiently through, he replied, 
«<I know I’m impolite to Mabel, but hang me if I can help it. 
She is so flat and silly, and takes every little attention from me 
as a declaration of love. Still, I don’t blame her as much as» 
I do mother, who is putting her up to it, and if she’d only 


124 LENA RIVERS. 


go home ana mind her own business, I should sike her weil 
enough.’’ 

‘¢T don’t understand you,’’ said ’Lena, and her cousin cons 
tinued: ‘Why, when Mabel first came here, I do not think 
she knew what mother was fishing for, so she was not so much 
at fault, but she does now ’’— 

‘¢Are you sure?’’ interrupted "Lena, and John Jr. replied, 
««She’s a confounded fool if she don’t. And what provokes 
me, is to think she'll still keep staying here, when modesty, if 
nothing else, should prompt her to leave. You wouldn’t catch 
Nellie doing so. Why, she’ d7 hardly come here at all, for fear 
folks will say she comes to see me, and that’s why I like her so 
well.’’ 

«‘J think you are mistaken with regard to Mabel,’’ said 
*Lena, ‘‘ for ve no idea she’s in love with you a bit more than 
lam. I dare say she likes you well enough, for there’s nothing 
in you to dislike.”’ 

‘‘Thank you,’’ interrupted John Jr., returning the compli- 
ment with a kiss, a liberty he often took with her. 

«¢ Behave, can’t you?” said ’Lena, at the same time continu- 
ing—‘‘ No, I don’t suppose Mabel is dying for you at all. All 
of us girls like to receive attention from you gentlemen, and 
she’s not an exception. Besides that, you ought to be polite to 
her, because she’s your mother’s guest, if for nothing else. I 
don’t ask you to love her,’’ said she, ‘but I do ask you to 
treat her well. Kind words cost nothing, and they go far 
toward making others happy.” 

“‘So they do,’’ answered John, upon whom ’Lena’s words 
were having a good effect. ‘I’ve nothing under heaven against 
Mabel Ross, except that mother wants me to marry her; but 
if you’ll warrant me that the young lady herself has no such in- 
tentions, why, I’ll do my very best.” 

«‘Pll warrant you,’ returned ’Lena, who really had no idea 
that Mabel cared aught in particular for her cousin, and satis- 
fied with the result of her interview, she started to leave the room. 

As she reached the door, John Jr. stopped her, saying, ‘* You 
are sure she don’t care for me?’”’ 

‘‘ Perfectly sure,’’ was ’Lena’s answer. 

«“The plague, she don’t,’ thought John, as the door closed 
upon ’Lena; and such is human nature, that the young man 
began to think that if Mabel didn’t care for him, he’d see if he 
couldn’t make her, for after all, there was something pleasant 
in being liked, even by Mabel! 


% 


oe 


LENA RIVERS. 195 


‘The next day, as the young ladies were sitting together in 
the parlor, John Jr. joined them, and after wringing Carrie’s 
nose, pulling ’Lena’s and Anna’s curls, he suddenly upset 
Mabel’s work-box, at the same time slyly whispering to his 
cousin, ‘* Ain’t I coming round P” 

Abrupt as this proceeding was, it pleased Mabel, who with 
the utmost good humor, commenced picking up her things, 
John Jr. assisting her, and managing once to bump his head 


against hers! After this, affairs at Maple Grove glided on as | 


smoothly as even Mrs. Livingstone could wish. John and 
Mabel were apparently on the most amicable terms, he deem- 
ing ’Lena’s approbation a sufficient reward for the many little 
attentions which he paid to Mabel, and she, knowing nothing 
of all that had passed, drinking in his every word and look, 
learning to live upon his smile, and conforming herself, as far 
as possible, to what she thought would best please him. 

Gradually, as she thought it would do, Mrs. Livingstone un- 
folded to Mabel her own wishes, saying she should be perfectly 
happy could she only call her ‘‘daughter,”’ and hinting that 
such a thing ‘*by wise management could easily be brought 
about.’ With a gush of tears the orpha.i girl laid her head in 
Mrs, Livingstone’s lap, mentally blessing Per as her benefac- 
tress, and thanaing the Giver of all good for the light and hap- 
piness which she saw dawning upon her pathway. 


‘John is peculiar,’’ said Mrs. Livingstone, “and if he 


fancied you liked him very much, it might not please him as 
well as indifference on your part.’’ 

So, with this lesson, Mabel for the first time in her life at- 
tempted to act as she did not feel, feigning carelessness or in- 
difference when every pulse of her heart was throbbing with joy 
at some little attention paid her by John Jr., who could be very 
agreeable when he chose, and who, observing her apparent in- 
difference, began to think that what ’Lena had said was true, 
and that Mabel really cared nothing for him. With this im- 
pression he exerted himself to be agreeabie, wondering how 
her many good qualities had so long escaped his observation. 

‘¢’There is more to her than I supposed,’’ said he one day te 


*Lena, who was commending him for his improved m.nner. 


és Yes, a heap more than I supposed. Why, I really like her! ’’ 

and he told the truth, for with his prejudice laid asidé, he, 
as is often the case, began to find virtues in her the existence 
of which he had never suspected. Frequently, now, he talked, 
laughed, and rode with her, praising her horsemanship, point: 


“hy P ( 


126 | LENA RIVERS. 


ing out some points wherein it might be improved, and aevet 
dreaming the while of the deep affection his conduct had awak- 
ened in the susceptible girl. 

‘¢Oh, I am so happy,” said she one day to "Lena, who was 
speaking of her improved health. ‘I never thought it pos- 
sible for me to be so happy. I dreaded to come here at first, 
but now I shall never regret it, never.’’ 

She was standing before the long mirror in the parlor, ad- 
justing the feathers to her tasteful velvet cap, which, with her 
neatly fitting riding-dress, became her better than anything 
else. ‘The excitement of her words sent a deep glow to her 
cheek, while her large black eyes sparkled with unusual 
briliancy. She was going out with John Jr., who, just as she 
finished speaking, appeared in the doorway, and catching a 
glimpse of her face, exclaimed in his blunt, iocose way, ‘‘ Upon 
my word, Meb, if you keep on, you'll get to be quite decent 
looking in time.”’ 

"Twas the first compliment of the kind he had ever paid 
her, and questionable as it was, it tended to strengthen her fast 
forming belief that her affection for him was returned. 

“¢I can’t expect him to do anything like other people, he’s 
so odd,’’ thought she, and yet it was this very oddness which 
charmed her. 

At length Nellie, who hac returned from Madison, and felt 
rather lonely, wrote to Mabel, asking her tocome home. ‘This 
plan Mrs. Livingstone opposed, but Mabel was decided, and 
the week before Christmas was fixed upon for her departure. 
John Jr., anxious to see Nellie, proposed accompanying her, 
but when the day came he was suffering from a severe cold, 
which rendered kis stay in the house absolutely necessary. “So 
his mother, who had reasons of her own for doing so, went in 
his stead. Carrie, who never had any fancy for Mabel, and 
only endured her because she was rich, was coolly polite, 
merely offering her hand, and then resumed the novel she was 
reading, even before Mabel had left. Anna and ’Lena bade 
her a more affectionate adieu, and then advancing toward John 
Jr., who, in his dressing-gown and slippers, reclined upon the 
sofa, she offered him her hand. 

As if to atone for his former acts of rudeness, the young 
man accompanied her to the. door, playfully claiming the 
privilege of taking leave just as his sister and cousin had done. 

‘It’s only me, you know,”’ said he, imprinting upon her 
forehead a kiss which sent the rich blood to her neck and face. 


“LENA RIVERS. 127 


john Jr. would not have dared to take that liberty with 
Nellie, while Mabel, simple-hearted, and wholly unused to the 
world, saw in it a world of meaning, and for a long time after 
the carriage rolled away from Maple Grove the bright glow on 
her cheek told of happy thoughts within. 

‘‘Did my son say anything definite to you before you left ?” 
asked Mrs. Livingstone, as. they came within sight of the city. 

‘¢No, madam,’’ answered Mabel, and Mrs. Livingstone con- 
tinued, ‘‘ That’s strange. He confessed to me that he—ah— 
he—loved you, and I supposed he intended telling you so; 
but bashfulness prevented, I dare say!” 

Accustomed as she was to equivocation, this downright 
falsehood cost Mrs. Livingstone quite an effort, but she fancied 
the case required it, and after a few twinges, her conscience 
felt easy, particularly when she saw how much satisfaction her 
words gave to her companion, to whom the improbability of 
the affair never occurred. Could she have known how lightly 
john Jr. treated the matter, laughingly describing his leave. 
taking to his sisters anc "Lena saad saying, ‘‘ Mab wasn’t the 
worst girl in the world, after all,’”? she might not have been se 
easily duped 

But she did not know all this, and thus was the delusion 
perfect. 





CHAPTER XIV. 
NELLIE AND MABEL. 


Nexium Douc.ass sat alone in her chamber, which was filled 
with articles of elegance and luxury, for her fatner, though far 
from being wealthy, still loved to surround his only daughter 
with everything which could increase her comfort. So the 
best, the fairest, and the most costly was always for her, his 
‘¢ darling Nellie,’’ as he called her, when with bounding foot- 
steps she flew to greet him on his return at night, ministering 
to ais wants in a thousand ways, and shedding over his home 
such a halo of sunshine that ofttimec ne forgot that he was a 
lonely widower, while in the features of his precious child he 
jaw again the wife of his bosom, who years before had passed 
rom his side forever. 

But not on him were Nellie’s thoughts resting, as she sat 


125 LENA RIVERS. 


there aluic chat afternoon. She was thinking or the past—of 
john Livingstone, and the many marked attentions, which 
needed not the expression of words to tell her she was beloved. 

And freely did her heart respond. ‘That John Jr. was not. per~ 
fect ‘she knew, but he was noble and generous, and so easily 
influenced by those he loved, that she knew it would be an 
easy task to soften down some of the rougher shades of his 
character. Three times during her absence had he called, ex- 
pressing so much disappointment, that with woman’s rea dy i in- 
stinct she more than half divined his intentions, and regretted 
that she was gone. But Mabel was coming to-day, and he was 
to accompany her, for so had ’Lena written, and Nellie’s cheeks 
glowed and her heart beat high, as she thought of what might 
occur. She knew well that in point of wealth she was not his 
equal, for though mingling with the first in the city, her father 
was poor—but one of John Jr.’s nature would never take that 
into consideration. They had known each other from child- 


hood, and he had always evinced for her the same preference - 


which he now manifested. Several weeks had elapsed since 
she had seen him, and now, rather impatiently, she awaited his 
arrival. 

‘Tf you please, ma’am, Mrs. Livingstone and Miss Mabel 
are in the parlor,’’ said a servant, suddenly appearing and in: 
terrupting her reverie. 

‘‘ Mrs. Livingstone !’’ she repeated, as he glanced at her- 
self in a mirror, and rearranged one side of her shining hair, 
‘‘Mrs. Livingstone!—and so he has na: come. I wonder 
what’s the matter ! ”’ and with a less joyous face she descended 
to the back parlor, where, with rich furs wrapped closely about 
her, as if half frozen, sat Mrs. Livingstone, her quick eye 
taking an inventory of every article of furniture, and her proud 
spirit whispering to herself, <‘ Poverty, poverty.” 

With a cry of joy, Mabel flew to meet Nellie, who, while 
welcoming her back, congratulated her upon her improved 
health and looks, saying, ‘‘the azr of Maple Grove must have 
agreed with her ;’’ then turning toward Mrs. Livingstone, who 
saw in her remark other meaning than the one she intended, 
she asked her to remove her wrappings, apologizing at the same 
time for the fire being so low. 

‘< Father is absent most ot the day,’’ said she, ‘‘and as I am 


much in my chamber, we seldom keep a fire in the front , 


parlor.’’ 
«« Just as well,’’ answered Mrs. Livingstone, removing her 


, 
j 
i 

' 





LENA RIVERS. | Tas 


cicavy furs, ‘¢ One fire is cheager than two, and in these times 
I suppose it is necessary for some people to economize.”’ 

Nellie colored, not so much at the words as at the maimer of 
her visitor. After a moment, Mrs. Livingstone again spoke, 
looking straight in Nellie’s face. 

‘¢ My son was very anxious to ride over with Mabel, but a 
bad cold prevented him, so she rather unwillingly took me as a 
substitute.”’ 

Here not only Nellie, but Mabel, also colored, and the latter 
left the room. When she was gone, Nellie remarked upon the 
visible improvement in her health. 

‘<¢Yes,’’ said Mrs. Livingstone, settling herself a little more 
easily in her chair, ‘‘ Yes, Mabel isn’t the same creature she 
was when she came to us, but then it’s no wonder, for dove. you 
know, will work miracles.”’ 

No answer from Nellie, who almost instinctively felt what 
was coming next. 

‘<Upon my word, Miss Douglass, you’ve no curiosity what- 
ever. Why don’t you ask with whom Mabel is im love?” 

‘¢Who is it?”’ laughingly asked Nellie, nervously Pyne 
with the tassel of her biue silk apron. 

After a moment, Mrs. Livingstone replied, -‘It may seem 
out of place for me to speak of it, but I know you, Miss Doug- 
lass, for a girl of excellent sense, and feel sure you will not be- 
tray me to either party.” 

‘‘Certainly not,’’ answered Nellie, rather fiaughtily, while 
her tormentor continued: ‘‘ Well, then, it is my son, and I as- 
sure you, both myself and husband are wel! pleased that it 
should be so. From the moment I first saw Mabel, I felt for 
her a motherly affection for which I could nor account, and if I 
were now to select my future daughter-in-law, 1 should prefer 
her to all others.’’ 

Here ensued a pause which Nellie felt no inclination to 
break, and again Mrs. Livingstone spoke: ‘* It may be a weak- 
ness, but I have always felt anxious that John should make a 
match every way worthy of him, both as to wealth and station. 
‘Indeed, I would hardly be willing for him to marry one whose 
fortune is less than Mabel’s. But I need have no fears, for 
John has his own views on that subject, and though he may 
sometimes be attentive to girls far beneath him, he is pretty 
sure in the end to do as / think best!” 

Poor Nellie! How every word sank into her soul, torturing 
fer almost to madness. She did not stop te consider the ime 


130 LENA RIVERS. 


probability of what she heard. Naturally impulsive and exci 
table, she believed it all, for if John Jr. really loved her, as 
once she had fondly believed, had there not been a thousand 
opportunities for him to tell her so? At this moment Mabel 
reéntered the parlor, and Nellie, on the plea of seeing to the 
dinner, left the room, going she scarce knew whither, until she 
found herself in a little arbor at the foot of the garden, where 
many and many a time John Jr. had sat with her, and where 
he would never sit again—so she thought, so she believed—and 
throwing herself upon one of the seats, she struggled hard to 
school herself to meet the worst—to conquer the bitter resent- 
ment which she felt rising within her toward Mabel, who had 
supplanted her in the affections of the only one she had ever 
loved. 

Nellie had a noble, generous nature, and after a few moment 
of calmer reflection, she rose up, strengthened in her purpose 
of never suffering Mabel to know how deeply she had wronged 
her. ‘She is an orphan—a lonely orphan,’’ thought she, 
<©and God forbid that through me one drop of bitterness should 
mingle in her cup of joy.”’ 

With a firm step she walked to the kitchen, gave some addi- 
tional orders concerning the dinner, and then returned to the 
parlor, half shuddering when Mabel come near her, and then 
with a strong effort pressing the little blue-veined hand laid so 
confidingly upon her own. Dinner being over, Mrs. Living- 
stone, who had some other calls to make, took her leave, bid- 
ding a most affectionate adieu to Mabel, who clung to her as if 
she had indeed been her mother. 

‘“‘ Good-bye, darling Meb,”’ said she. ‘I shall come for 
you to visit us erelong.’’ ‘Turning to Nellie, she said, ‘‘ Do 
take care of her health, which you know is now precious to more 
than one;’’ then in a whisper she added, ‘‘ Remember that 
what I have told you is sacred.”’ 

The next moment she was gone, and mechanically, Nellie 
returned to the parlor, together with Mabel, whose unusual 
buoyancy of spirits contrasted painfully with the silence and 
sadness which lay around her heart. That night, Mr. Doug- 
lass had some business in the city, and the two girls were left 
alone. ‘The lamps were unlighted, for the full golden moon- 
light, which streamed through the window-panes, suited better 
the mood of Nellie, who leaning upon the arm of the sofa, 
looked listlessly out upon the deep beauty of the night. Upon 
a little stool at her feet sat Mabel, her head resting on Nellie’s 





LENA RIVERS. 131 


lap, and her hand searching in vain for another, which invol- 
untarily moved farther and farther away, as hers advanced. 

At length she spoke: ‘Nellie, dear Nellie—there is some- 
thing I want so much to tell you—if you will hear it, and not 
think me foolish.”’ 

With a strong effort, the hand which had crept away under 
the sofa-cushion, came back from its hiding-place, and rested 
upon Mabel’s brow, while Nellie’s voice answered, softly and 
slow, ‘‘ What is it, Mabel? I will hear you.” 

Briefly, then, Mabel told the story of her short life, begin- 
ning at the time when a frowning nurse tore her away from her 
dead mother, chiding her for her tears, and threatening her 
with punishment if she did not desist. ‘Since then,” said 
she, *‘I have been so lonely—how lonely, none but a friendless 
~rphan can know. No one has ever loved me, or if for a time 
they seemed to, they soon grew weary of me, and left me ten 
times more wretched than before. I never once dreamed that 
—that Mr. Livingstone could care aught for one so ugly as I 
know I am, I thought him better suited for you, Nellie. 
(How cold your hand is, but don’t take it away, for it cools 
my forehead.’’) 

The icy hand was not withdrawn, and Mabel continued : 
‘‘ Yes, I think him better suited to you, and when his mother 
told me that he loved me, and that he would, undoubtedly, 
one day make me his wife, it was almost too much for me to 
believe, but it makes me so happy—oh, so happy.” 

‘“‘And he—he, too, told you that he loved you?”’ said 
Nellie, very low, holding her breath for the answer. ; 

‘“‘Oh, no—/e never told me in words. ’*Twas his mother 
that told me—he only acted /”’ 

‘¢And what did he do?”’ asked Nellie, smiling in spite of 
herself, at the simplicity of Mabel, who, without any intention 
of exaggerating, proceeded to tell what John Jr. had said and 
done, magnifying every attention, until Nellie, blinded as she 
was by what his mother had said, was convinced that, at ah 
events, he was not true to herself. ‘To be sure, he had never 
told her he loved her in words; but in actions he had said it 
many a time, and if he could do the same with Mabel, he 
must be false either to one or the other. Always frank and 
open-hearted herself, Nellie despised anything like deception 
in others, and the high opinion she had once entertained for 
John Jr., was now greatly changed. 

Still, reason as she would, Nellie could not forget so easily, 


1383 LENA RIVERS. 


and the hour of midnight found her restless and wakeful. A. 
length, rising up and leaning upon her elbow, she looked down 
upon the face of Mabel, who lay sleeping sweetly at her side, 
Many and bitter were her thoughts, and as she looked upon 
her rival, marking her plain features and sallow skin, an ex- 
pression of scorn flitted for an instant across her face. 

‘And she is preferred to me!’’ said she. ‘‘ Well, let it be 
so, and God grant I may not hate her.”’ 

Erelong, better feelings came to her aid, and with her arms 
wound round Mabel’s neck, as if to ask forgiveness for her wn- 
kind thoughts, she fell asleep. 





CHAPTER XV. 
MRS. LIVINGSTONE’S CALLS AND THEIR RESULT. 


AFTER leaving Mr. Douglass’s, Mrs. Livingstone ordered tre 
coachman to drive her around to the house of Mrs. Atkins, 
where she was frequently in the habit of stopping, partly as @ 
matter of convenience when visiting in town, and partly te 
learn the latest news of the day, for Mrs. Atkins was an intol- 
erable gossip. Without belonging exactly to the higher circles, 
she still managed to keep up a show of intimacy with them, 
possessing herself with their secrets, and kindly intrusting them 
to the keeping of this and that ‘‘ dear friend.”’ 

From her, had Mrs. Livingstone learned to a dime the 
amount of Mr. Douglass’s property, and how he was obliged te 
economize in various ways, in order to keep up the appearance 
of style. From her, too, had she learned how often her son 
was in the habit of calling there, and what rumor said concerns 
ing those calls, while Mrs. Atkins had learned, in return, that 
the ambitious lady had other views for John, and that anything 
which she, Mrs. Atkins, could do to further the plans of her 
friend, would be gratefully received. On this occasion she 
was at home, and of course delighted to meet Mrs. Living- 
stone. 

‘It is such an age since I’ve seen you, that I began to fear 
you were offended at something,”’ said she, as she led the way 
into a cozy little sitting-room, where a cheerful wood fire was 
blazing on the nicely painted hearth. ‘Do sit down and 

make yourself as comfortable as you can, on such poor accony 


LENA RIVERS. 133 


modations, I have just finished dinner but will order some 
for you.”’ 

‘©No, no,’’ exclaimed Mrs. Livingstone, **I dined at Mr. 
Douglass’s—thank you.” 

«‘Ah, indeed,’’ returned Mrs. Atkins, feeling a good deal 
relieved, for to teil the truth, her larder, as was often the case, 
was rather empty. ‘‘Dined at Mr. Douglass’s! Of course, 
then, nothing which I could offer you could be acceptable, 
after one of his sumptuous meals. I suppose Nellie brought 
out all her mother’s old silver, and made quite a display. It’s 
a wonder to me how they hold their heads so high, and folks 
notice them as they do, for between you and me, I shouldn’t 
be surprised to hear of his failing any minute.’’ 

‘‘Ts it possibleP’’ said Mrs. Livingstone. 

‘Why, yes,’”’ returned Mrs. Atkins. ‘‘ There’s nothing tc 
prevent it, they say, except a moneyed marriage on the part of 
Nellie, who seems to be doing her best.’’ 

‘¢ Has she any particular one in view?’’ asked Mrs. Living- 
stone, and Mrs. Atkins, aware of Mrs. Livingstone’s aversion te 
the match, replied, ‘‘ Why, you know she tried to get your 
son ’’— 

‘But didn’t succeed,” interrupted Mrs. Livingstone. 

‘‘No, didn’t succeed. You are right. Well, now it seems 
she’s spreading sail for a Mr. Wilbur, of Madison ’’— 

Mrs. Livingstone’s eyes sparkled eagerly, and, not to lose 
one word, she drew her chair nearer to her friend, who pro- 
ceeded: ‘‘He’s a rich bachelor—brother to Mary Wilbur, 
Nellie’s most intimate friend. You've heard of her?” 

‘* Yes, yes,’’ returned Mrs. Livingstone. ‘ Hasn’t Nellie 
been visiting her ?’’ 

‘‘Her or her brother,’’ answered Mrs. Atkins. ‘* Mary’s 
health is poor, and you know it’s mighty convenient for Nellie 
to go there, under pretense of staying with her.’’ 

‘‘Exactly,’”’ answered Mrs. Livingstone, with a satisfied 
smile, and another hitch of her chair toward Mrs. Atkins, who, 
after a moment, continued: ‘* The brother came home with 
Nellie, stayed over Sunday, rode out with her Monday, in- 
dorsed ever so many notes for her father, so I reckon, and then 
went home. If that don’t mean something, then i’m mis- 
taken ’’—and Mrs. Atkins rang for a glass of wine and a slice 
of cake. 

After an hour’s confidential talk, in which Mrs. Livingstone — 
‘old of Mabel’s prospects, and Mrs. Atkins told how folks whe 


1340" LENA RIVERS. 


were at Mr. Graham’s party praised ’Lena Rivers’ beauty, 
and predicted a match between her and Mr. Bellmont, the 
former rose to go; and calling upon one or two others, and by 
dint of quizzing and hinting, getting them to say ‘they 
shouldn’t be surprised if Mr. Wilbur did like Nellie Douglass,’ 
she started for home, exulting to think how everything seemed 
working together for her good, and how, in the dénouement, 
nothing particular could be laid to her charge. 

<¢T cold Nellie no falsehood,’’ thought she. <I did not say 
John loved Mabel; I only said she loved him, leaving all else 
for her to infer. And it has commenced operating, too. I 
could see it in the spots on her face and neck, when I was talk- 
ing. Nellie’s a fine girl, though, but too poor for the Living- 
stones ;’’ and with this conclusion, she told the coachman to 
drive faster, as she was in a hurry to reach home. 

Arrived at Maple Grove, she found the whole family, 
grandma and all, assembled in the parlor, and with them Dur- 
ward Bellmont. His arm was thrown carelessly across the 
back of "Lena’s chair, while he occasionally bent forward to 
look at a book of prints which she was examining. The sight 
of him determined her to wait a little ere she retailed her pre- 
cious bit of gossip to herson. He was Nellie’s cousin, and as 
such, would in all probability repeat to her what he heard. 
However communicative John Jr. might be in other respects, 
she knew he would never discuss his heart-troubles with any 
one, so, upon second thought, she deemed it wiser to wait until 
they were alone. 

Durward and ’Lena, however, needed watching, and by a 
little maneuvring, she managed to separate them, greatly to 
the satisfaction of Carrie, who sat upon the sofa, one foot bent 
under her, and the other impatiently tapping the carpet. From 
the moment Durward took his seat by her cousin, she had ap- 
peared ill at ease, and as he began to understand her better, he 
readily guessed that her silent mood was owing chiefly to the 
attentions he paid to Lena, and not to a nervous headache, as 
she said, when her grandmother, inquiring the cause of her 
silence, remarked, that ‘‘she’d been chipper enough until Mr. 
Bellmont came in.”’ 

But he did not care. He admired ’Lena, and John Jr, like, 
it made but little difference with him who knew it. Carrie’s 
freaks, which he plainly saw, rather amused him than other- 
wise, but of Mrs. Livingstone he had no suspicion whatever. 
Consequently, when she sent ’Lena from the room on some 





LENA BIVERS. 185 


trifling errand, herself appropriating the ‘vacated seat, he saw 
in it no particular design, but in his usual pleasant way com- 
menced talking with Carrie, who brightened up so much that 
grandma asked ‘‘ if her headache wasn’t e’en-a’most well! ”’ 
When ’Lena returned to the parlor, Durward was purposing 


a surprise visit to Nellie Douglass some time during the holi- - 


days. ‘‘We’ll invite Mr. Everett, and all go down. What 
do you say, girls?”’ said he, turning toward Carrie and Anna, 
but meaning ’Lena quite as much as either of them. 

‘«¢ Capital,’’? answered Anna, visions of a long ride with Mal- 
colm instantly passing before her mind. 

‘¢T should like it very much,”’ said Carrie, visions of a ride 
with Durward crossing her mind. 

‘And I too,’’ said "Lena, laying her hand on John Jr.’s 
shoulder, as if he would of course be her escort. 

Carrie’s ill-nature had not all vanished, and now, in a 
slightly insolent tone, she said, ‘‘ How do you know you are 
included ?’’ 

’Lena was about to reply, when Durward, a little provoked 
at Carrie’s manner, prevented her by saying, ‘‘Of course I 
meant Miss Rivers, and I will now do myself the honor of ask- 
ing her to ride with me, either on horseback or in a carriage, 
just as she prefers.’’ 

In a very graceful manner ’Lena accepted the invitation say- 
ing that ‘‘she always preferred riding on horseback, but as the 
pony she usually rode had recently been sold, she would be 
content to go in any other way.’ 

‘‘Fleetfoot sold! what’s that for?’’ asked Anna; and her 
mother replied, ‘‘ We’ve about forty horses on our hands now, 
and as Fleetfoot was seldom used by any one except ’Lena, 
your father thought we couldn’t afford to keep him.’’ 

She did not dare tell the truth of the matter, and say that 
ever since the morning when ’Lena road to Woodlawn with 
Durward, Fleetfoot’s fate had been decreed. Repeatedly had 
she urged» the sale upon her husband, who, wearied with her 
importunity, at last consented, selling him to a neighboring 
planter, who had taken him away that very day. 

‘¢That’s smart,’’ said John Jr., looking at his father, who 
had not spoken. ‘‘ What is "Lena going to ride, I should like 
to know.” | 

’Lena pressed his arm to keep him still, but he would not 
heed her. ‘‘Isn’t there plenty of feed for Fleetfoot ?”’ 

‘¢ Certainly,’’ answered his father, compelled now to speak ; 


am 


136 LENA RIVERS. 


‘plenty of feed, but Fleetfoot was getting old and sometimes 
stumbled. Perhaps we'll get "Lena a better and younger 
horse.”’ 

This was said in a half timid way, which brought the tears 
to ’Lena’s eyes, for at the bottom of it all she saw her aunt, whe 
sat looking into the glowing grate, apparently oblivious to ail 
that was passing around her. 

«That reminds me of Christmas gifts,’’ said Durward, anx- 
ious to change the conversation. ‘‘1 wonder how many of 
us will get one ?’’ 

Kre there was any chance for an answer, a servant appeared 
at the door, asking Mrs. Livingstone for some medicine for old 
Aunt Polly, the superannuated negress, who will be remembered 
as having nursed Mrs. Nichols during her attack of rheuma- 
tism, and for whom grandma had conceived a strong affection, 
For many days she had been very ill, causing Mrs. Livingstone 
to wonder ‘what od niggers wanted to live for, bothering 
everybody to death.’’ 

The large stock of abolitionism which Mrs. Nichols had 
brought with her from Massachusetts was a little diminished by 
force of habit, but the root was there still, in all its vigor, and 
since Aunt Polly’s illness she had been revolving in her mind 
the momentous question, whether she would not be most guilty 
if Polly were suffered to die in bondage. 

«‘T promised Nancy Scovandyke,’’ said she, ‘‘ that I’d have 
some on ’em set free, but I’ll be bound if ’tain’t harder work 
than I s’posed ’twould be.” 

Still Aunt Polly’s freedom lay warm at grandma’s heart and 
now when she was mentioned together with ‘‘ Christmas gifts,’’ 
a bright idea entered her mind. 

‘<‘John,’’ said she to her son, when Corinda had gone with 
the medicine, ‘‘ John, have you ever made me a Christmas 
present since I’ve been here? ”’ 

‘‘T believe not,’’ was his answer. 

*«Wall,”’ continued grandma, ‘‘bein’s the fashion, I want 
you to give me somethin’ this Christmas, will you?’’ 

*‘ Certainly,’’ said he, ‘‘ what is it? ’’ 

Grandma replied that she would rather not tell him then— 
she would wait until Christmas morning, which came the next 
Tuesday, and here the conversation ended. Soon after, Dur- 
ward took his leave, telling ’Lena he should call for her on 
Thursday. 

«That's a plaguy smart feller,” said grandma, as the door 


LENA RIVERS. 137 


closed upon him; ‘and I kinder think he’s got a notion after 
*Leny.”’ 

‘«‘ Ridiculous !’’ muttered Mrs. Livingstone, while Carrie 
added, ‘‘ Just reverse-it, and say she has a notion after him!” 

«‘Shut up your head,’’ growled John Jr. ‘ You are only 
angry because he asked her.to accompany him, instead of your- 
self. I reckon he knows what he’s about.” 

«<T reckon he does, too!’’ said Mrs. Livingstone, with a 
peculiar smile, which nettled “Lena more than any open attack 
would have done. 

With the exception of his mother, John Jr. was the last to 
leave the parlor, and when all the rest were gone, Mrs. Living- 
stone seized her opportunity for telling him what she had 
_heard. ‘Taking a light from the table, he was about retiring, 
when she said, ‘‘I learned some news to-day which a little sur- 
prised me.”’ 

“Got it from Mother Atkins, I suppose,’’ answered John, 
still advancing toward the door. 

‘¢ Partly from her, and partly from others,”’ said his mother, 
adding, as she saw him touch the door-knob, ‘‘ It’s about Nellie 
Douglass.”’ 

This was sufficient to arrest his attention, and turning about, 
he asked, ‘* What of her? ”’ 

‘‘Why, nothing of any great consequence, as I know of,’’ 
said Mrs. Livingstone, ‘‘only people in Frankfort think she’s 
going to be married.’’ 

‘¢ 7 think so, too,’ was John’s mental reply, while his verbal 
one was, ‘“‘ Married! To whom?”’ 

*¢ Did you ever hear her speak of Mary Wilbur ?”’ 

‘¢ Yes, she’s been staying with her ever since Mrs. Graham’s 

arty.”’ 

Well, Mary it seems has a brother, a rich old bachelor, 
who they say is very attentive to Nellie. He came home with 
her from Madison, staying at her father’s the rest of the week, 
and paying her numberless attentions, which ’’— 

‘<7 don't believe it,” interrupted John Jr., striking his fist 
upon the table, to which he had returned. 

‘Neither did I, at first,’’? said his mother, ‘but I heard it 
in so many places that there must be something init. And 
I’m sure it’s a good match. He is rich, and willing, they say, 
to help her father, who is in danger of failing any moment.”’ 

Without knowing it, John Jr. was a little inclined to be jeal- 
gus, particularly of those whom he loved very much, and now 


188 LENA RIVERS. 


suddenly remembering to have heard Nellie speak in high terms 
of Robert Wilbur, he began to feel uneasy, lest what his mother 
had said were true. She saw her advantage, and followed it up 
until, in a fit of anger, he rushed from the room and repaired 
to his own apartment, where for a time he walked backward 
and forward, chafing like a caged lion, and wishing all manner 
of evil upon Nellie, if she were indeed false to him. 

He was very excitable, and at last worked himself up to such 
a pitch, that he determined upon starting at once for Frankfort, 
to demand of Nellie if what he had heard were true! Upon 
.cooler reflection, however, he concluded not to make a “‘ perfect 
fool of himself,’’ and plunging into bed, he fell asleep, as what, 
man will not, be his trouble what it may. 





CHAPTER XVI. 
CHRISTMAS GIFTS, 


Tue sunlight of a bright Christmas morning had hardly 
dawned upon the earth, when from many a planter’s home in 
the sunny south was heard the joyful cry of ‘‘ Christmas Gift,’’ 
‘‘Christmas Gift,’’ as the negroes ran over and against each 
other, hiding ofttimes, until some one came within hailing dis- 
tance, when their loud ‘‘ Christmas Gift ’’ would make all echo 
again. On this occasion, every servant at Maple Grove was 
remembered, for Anna and ’Lena had worked both early and 
late in preparing some little present, and feeling amply compen- 
sated for their trouble, when they saw how much happiness it 
gave. Mabel, too, while she stayed, had lent a helping hand, 
and many a blessing was that morning invoked upon her head 
from the hearts made glad by her generous gifts. Carrie, when 
asked to join them, had turned scornfully away, saying ‘‘she’d 
plenty to do, without working for niggers, who could not ap- 
preciate it.”’ 

So all her leisure hours were spent in embroidering a fine 
cambric handkerchief, intended as a present for Mrs. Graham, 
and which with a delicate note was, the evening previous, sent 
to Woodlawn, with instructions to have it placed next morning 
on Mrs. Graham’s table. Of course Mrs. Graham felt in duty 
bound to return the compliment, and looking over her old jew- 
elry, she selected a diamond ring which she had formerly worn, 
but which was now too small for her fat chubby fingers. This 


LENA RIVERS. 139 


was immediately forwarded to Maple Grove, reaching there 
just as the family were rising from the breakfast-table. 

‘«‘Qh, isn’t it beautiful—splendid—magnificent !’’ were Care 
rie’s exclamations, while she praised Mrs. Graham's generosity, 
secretly wondering if ‘‘ Durward did not have something to do 
with it.”’ 

On this point she was soon set right, for the young man him- 
self erelong appeared, and after bidding them all a ‘‘ Merry 
Christmas,”’ presented Anna with a package which, on being 
opened, proved to be a large and complete copy of Shakspeare, 
elegantly bound, and bearing upon its heavy golden clasp the 
words ‘‘ Anna Livingstone, from Durward.” 

‘¢'This you will please accept from me,’’ said he. ‘* Mother, 
I believe, has sent Carrie something, and if ’Lena will step to: 
the door, she will see her gift from father, who hopes it will 
give her as much pleasure to accept it, as it does him to pre- 
sent it.” 

‘What can it be?’’ thought Carrie, rising languidly from 
the sofa, and following *Lena and her sister to the side door, 
where stood one of Mr. Graham’s servants, holding a beautiful 
grey pony, ali nicely equipped for riding. 

Never dreaming that this was intended for ’Lena, Carrie 
looked vacantly around, saying, ‘‘ Why, where is it? Idon’t 
see anything.’’ 

«« Here,’’ said Durward, taking the bridle from the negro’s 
hand, and playfully throwing it across "Lena’s neck. ‘‘ Here 
it is—this pony, which we call, Vesta.. Vesta, allow me to in- _ 
troduce you and your new mistress, Miss Lena, to each other,”* — 
and catching her up, as if she had been a feather, he placed her 
in the saddle. ‘Then, at a peculiar whistle, the well-trained 
animal started off upon an easy gallop, bearing its burden 
tightly around the yard, and back again to the piazza. 

‘‘Do you like her?”’ he asked of ’Lena, extending his arms 
to lift her down. 

For a moment ’Lena could not speak, her heart was so full. 
But at last, forcing down her emotion, she replied, ‘‘ Oh, very, 
very much; but it isn’t for me, I know—there must be some 
mistake. Mr. Graham never intended it for me.” 

<‘ Yes, he did,’’ answered Durward. ‘‘He has intended itt 
ever since the morning when you and I rode to Woodlawn. A 
remark which your cousin John made at the table, determined 
him upon him buying and training a pony for you. So here it 
is, and as I have done my share toward teaching her, you must 


140 UNA RIVERS. 


grant me the faver of riding her to Frankfort day aiter te-mor- 
row.’ | 

‘©Thank you, thank you--you and Mr. Grahan. too—a 
thousand times,’’ said ’Lena, winding her arms around the neck 
of the docile animal, who did her best to return the caress, 
rubbing her face against "Lena, and evincing her gentleness in 
various ways. 

By this time Mr. Livingstone had joined them, and while he 
was admiring the pony, Durward said to him, «‘ I am commis- 
sioned by my father to tell you that he will defray all the ex- 
pense of keeping Vesta.” 

‘¢ Don’t mention such a thing again,’’ hastily interposed Mr. 
Livingstone. ‘‘I can keep fifty horses, if I choose, and noth- 
ing will give me more pleasure than to take care of this one 
for "Lena, who deserves it if any one does.’’ 

‘¢ That’s my Christmas gift from you, uncle, isn’t it?’ asked 
"Lena, the tears gushing from her shining, brown eyes. *‘ And 
now piease may I return it?” 

*¢ Certainly,’’ said he, and with a nimble spring she caught 
him around the neck, imprinting upon his lips the first and only 
kiss she had ever given him; then, amid blushes and tears, 
which came from a heart full of happiness, she ran away up- 
stairs followed by the envious eyes of Carrie, who repaired to 
her mother’s room, where she stated all that had transpired— 
‘¢ How Mr. Graham had sent ’Lena a grey pony—how she had 
presumed to accept it—and, how. just to show off before Mr. 
Bellmont, she had wound her azms around its neck, and then 
actually 2issed pa /”* 

Mrs. Livingstone was equally indignant with her daughter, 
wondering if Mr. Graham had lost his reason, and reckoning 
his wife knew nothing about Vesta! But fret as she would, 
there was no help for it. Vesta belonged to ’Lena—Mr. 
Livingstone had given orders to have it well-cared for—and 
worse than all the rest, "Lena was to accompany Durward to 
Frankfort. Something must be done to meet the emergency, 
but what, Mrs. Livingstone didn’t exactly know, and finally 
concluded to wait until she saw Mrs. Graham. ; 

Meantime grandma had claimed from her son her promised 
Christmas gift, which was nothing less than ‘the freedom of 
old Aunt Polly.” 

‘You won't refuse me, John, I know you won’t,” said she, 
laying her bony hand on his. ‘‘ Polly’s arnt her freedom forty 
times over, even s’posin’ you’d a right to her in the fust place 


LENA RIVERS. 141 


whwu I and Nancy Scovandyke both doubt; so now set down 
like a man, make out her free papers, and let me carry ’em to 
her right away.” 

Without a word Mr. Livingstone complied with his mother’s 
request, saying, as he handed her the paper, ‘It’s not so much 
the fault of the south as of the north that every black under 
heaven is not free.’’ 

Grandma looked aghast. Her son, born, brought up, and 
baptized in a purely orthodox atmosphere, to hold such treason- 
able opinions in opposition to everything he’d ever been taught 
in good old Massachusetts! She was greatly shocked, but 
thinking she could not do the subject justice, she said, ‘‘ Wall, 
wall, it’s of no use for you and I to arger the pint, for I don’t 
know nothin’ what I want to say, but if Nancy Scovandyke was 
here, she’d convince you quick, for she’s good larnin’ as any of 
the gals nowadays.” 

So saying, she walked away to Polly’s cabin. The old 
negress was better to-day, and attired in the warm double-gown 
which Mabel had purchased and ’Lena had made, she sat up 
in a large, comfortable rocking-chair which John Jr. had given 
her at the commencement of her illness, saying it was ‘‘ his 
Christmas gift in advance.’’ Going straight up to her, grandma 
laid the paper in her lap, bidding her ‘‘ read it and thank the 
Lord.”’ 

‘*Bless missus’ dear old heart,’’ said Aunt Polly, ‘‘ I can’t 
read a word.” 

«¢Sure enough,’’ answered Mrs. Nichols, and taking up the 
paper she read it through, managing to make the old creature 
comprehend its meaning. 

‘<¢ Praise the Lord! praise Master John, and all the other 
apostles | ’’ exclaimed Aunt Polly, clasping together her black, 
wrinkled hands, while tears of joy coursed their way down her 
cheeks. ‘*The breath of liberty is sweet—sweet as sugar,” 
she continued, drawing long inspirations as if to make up for 
lost time. 

Mrs. Nichols looked on, silently thanking God for having 
made her an humble instrument in contributing so much to an- 
other’s happiness. 

‘¢Set down,’’ said Aunt Polly, motioning toward a wooden 
bottomed chair; ‘‘set down, and let’s us talk over this great 
meracle, which I’ve prayed and tastieu for mighty nigh a hun- 
“es times, without havin’ an atom of faith that ’tweuld ever 


145 LENA RIVERS. 


So Mrs. Nichols sat down, and for nearly an hour the oid 
ladies talked, the one of her newly-found freedom, and the 
other of her happiness in knowing that ‘‘’twasn’t for nothin’ 
she was turned out of her old home and brought away over 
land and sea to Kentucky.’’ 





CHAPTER XVIL 
FRANKFORT. 


THURSDAY morning came, bright, sunshiny and beauuful, 
and at about ten o’clock ’Lena, dressed and ready for her 
ride, came down to the parlor, where she found John Jr. list- 
lessly leaning upon the table with his elbows, and drumming 
with his fingers. 

‘¢Come, cousin,”’ said she, ‘* why are you not ready ?”’ 

«¢ Ready for what? ’’ he answered, without raising his head. 

‘¢ Why, ready for our visit,”” replied ’Lena, at the same time 
advancing nearer, to see what ailed him. 

All the visit I make to-day won't hurt me, I reckon,’’ said 
he, pushing his hat a little more to one side and looking up at 
*Lena, who, in some surprise, asked what he meant. 

‘¢T mean what I say,’’ was his ungracious answer ; ‘‘ I’ve no 
intention whatever of going to Frankfort.’’ 

‘‘Not going ?’’ repeated "Lena. “‘ Why not? What will 
Carrie do?’”’ 

«‘Stick herself in with you and Durward, I suppose,’’ said 
John Jr., just as Carrie entered the room, together with Mr. 
Bellmont, Malcolm, and Anna. 

«« Not going P—of course then I must stay at home, too,”’ said 
Carrie, secretly pleased at her brother’s decision. 

‘¢Why of course?’ asked Durward, who, in the emergency, 
felt constrained to offer his services to Carrie, though he would 
greatly have preferred ’Lena’s company alone. ‘‘ The road is 
wide enough for three, and I am fully competent to take charge 
of two ladies. But why don’t you go?” turning to John Jr. 

‘¢Because I don’t wish to. If it was anywhere in creation 
but there, I’d go,’’ answered the young man, hastily leaving 
the room to avoid all further argument. 

‘‘ He does it just to be hateful and annoy me,”’ said Carrie, 
trying to pout, but making a failure, for she had in reality much 
rather go under Durward’s escort than her brother’s. 


LENA RIVERS. 148 


The horses were now announced as ready, and in a few 
moments the little party were on their way, Carrie affecting so 
much fear of her pony that Durward at last politely offered to 
lead him a while. ‘Vhis would of course bring him close to her 
side, and after little a well-feigned hesitation, she replied, ‘I 
am sorry to trouble you, but if you would be so kind ’’— 

*Lena saw through the ruse, and patting Vesta gently, rode 
on in advance, greatly to the satisfaction of Carrie, and greatly 
to the chagrin of Durward, who replied to his loquacious com- 
panion only in monosyllables. Once, indeed, when she said 
something concerning ’Lena’s evident desire to show off her 
orsemanship, he answered rather coolly, that ‘‘he’d yet to 
discover in Miss Rivers the least propensity for display of any 
kind.”’ 

‘¢You’ve never lived with her,’’ returned Carrie, and here 
the conversation concerning ’Lena ceased. 

Meantime, Nellie Douglass was engaged in answering a letter 
that morning received from Mary Wilbur. A few years before, 
Mary had spent some months in Mr. Douglass’s family, con- 
ceiving a strong affection for Nellie, whom she always called 
her sister, and with whom she kept up a regular correspondence. 
Mary was an orphan, living with her only brother Robert, who 
was a bachelor of thirty or thirty-five. Once she had ventured to 
hope that Nellie would indeed be to her a sister, but fate had 
decreed it otherwise, and her brother was engaged to a lady 
whom he found a schoolgirl in Montreal, and who was now at 
her own home in England. This was well-known to Nellie, 
but she did not deem it a matter of sufficient importance te 
discuss, so it was a secret in Frankfort, where Mr. Wilbur’s 
polite attentions to herself was a subject of considerable remark. _ 
For a long time Mary had been out of health, and the family 
physician at last said that nothing could save her except a sea 
voyage, and as her brother was about going to Europe to con- 
summate his marriage, it was decided that she should accom- 
pany him. ‘This she was willing todo, provided Nellie Doug- 
lass would go too. 

‘‘It would be much pleasanter,’’ she said, ‘‘ having some 
female companion besides her attendant, and then, too, Nellie 
had relatives in England;’’ so she urged her to accompany 
them, offering to defray all expenses for the pleasure of her so- 
ciety. 

Since Nellie’s earliest recollection, her fondest dreams had 
been of England, her mother’s birthplace; and now when se 


2? 


14é LENA RIVERS. 


favorable an opportunity for visiting it was presented, she felt 
strongly tempted to say ‘‘ Yes.”’ Still, she would give Mary 
no encouragement until she had seen her father and John Jr., 
the latter of whom would influence her decision quite as much 
as the former. But John Jr. no longer loved her—she was 
sure of that—and with her father’s consent she had half deter- 
mined to go. Still she was undecided, until a letter came 
from Mary, urging her to make up her mind without delay, as 
they were to sail the 15th of January. 

‘¢‘Brother is so sensitive concerning his love affine’? wrote 
Mary, ‘‘that whether you conclude to join us or not, you will 
please say nothing about his intended marriage.’ 

Nellie had seated herself to answer this letter, when a serv. 
ant came up, saying that ‘‘ Marster Bellmont, all the Living, 
stones, and a heap more were downstars, and had sent for her.’’ 

She was just writing, ‘“‘I will go,’’ when this announcement 
came, and quickly suspending her pen, she thought, ‘‘ He’s 
come, at last. It may all be a mistake. I'll wait.’’ Witha 
beating heart she descended to the parlor, where she politely 
greeted Mr. Everett and Durward, and then anxiously glanced 
around for the missing one. Mabel, who felt a similar disap. 
pointment, ventured to inquire for him, in a low tone, where. 
upon Carrie replied, loudly enough for Nellie to hear, ‘Oh, 
pray don’t speak of that bear. Why, you don’t know how 
cross he’s been ever since—let me see—ever since yeu came 
away. He doesn’t say a civil word to anybody, and I really 
wish you’d come back before he kills us all.”’ 

«‘Did you iavite him to come?”’ said Nellie. 

‘‘ To be sure we did,’’ answered Carrie, ‘‘and he said, ‘any- 
where in creation but there.’ ”’ 

Nellie needed no further confirmation, and after conversing 
awhile with her guests, she begged leave to be excused for a 
few moments, while she finished a letter of importance, which 
must go out in the next mail. Alone in her room, she wav- 
ered, brt the remembrance of the words, ‘‘ anywhere in crea- 
tion but there,’’ decided her, and with a firm hand she wrote 
to Mary that she would go. When the letter was finished and 
sent to the office, Nellie returned to her visitors, who began to 
rally her concerning the important letter which must be an: 
swered. 

‘«< Now, coz,’’ said Durward, pulling her down upon the oes 
vy his side, ** now, coz, I claim a tight to know something 
about this letter. Was it one of acceptance or rejection P”” 


LENA RIVERS. 145 
«* Acceptance, of course,’’ answered Nellie, who, knowing 
no good reason why her intended tour should be kept a secret, 
proceeded to speak of it, telling how they were to visit Scot- 
land, France, Switzerland, and Italy, and almost forgetting, in 
her enthusiasm, how wretched the thought of the journey made 
her. 

<¢And Miss Wilbur’s Peorhens is to be your escort—he is un- 
married, I believe ?’’ said Durward, looking steadily upon the 
carpet. 

i a moment Nellie would have told of his engagement, and 
the object of his going, but she remembered Mary’s request in 
time, and the blush which the almost committed mistake called 
to her cheek, was construed by all into a confession that there 
was something between her and Mr. Wilbur. 

«That accounts for John’s sudden churlishness,’’ thought 
“Lena, wondering how Nellie could have deceived him so. 

6¢Qh, I see it all,’’ exclaimed Mabel. ‘‘I understand now 
what has made Nellie so absent-minded and restless these many 
days. She was making up her mind to become Mrs. Wilbur, 
while I fancied she was offended with me.” 

«¢¥ don’t know what you mean,’’ answered Nellie, without 
smiling in the least. ‘‘ Mary Wilbur wishes me to accompany 
her to Europe, and I intend doing so. Her brother is nothing 
to me, nor ever will be.’’ 

‘<¢ Quite_a probable story,”’ thought Mr. Everett, without 
' forming his reflections into words. 

Toward the middle of the afternoon, a violent ringing of the 
door-bell, and a heavy tramp in the hail, announced some new 
arrival, and Nellie was about opening the parlor door, when 
who. should appear but John Jr.! From his room he had 
watched the departure of the party, one moment wishing he 
was with them, and the next declaring he’d never go to Frank- 
fort again so long as he lived! At length inclination getting 
the ascendency of his reason, he mounted Firelock, and rush- 
ing furiously down the pike, never once slackened his speed 
until the city was in sight. 

«‘] dare say she'll think me a fool,’’ thought he, “‘ tagging 
her round, but she needn’t worry. I only want to show her 
how little her pranks affect me.”’ ' 

With these thoughts he could not fail to meet Nellie other- 
wise than coldly, while she received him with equal indiffer- 
’ ence, calling him Mr. Livingstone, and asking if he were cold, 
with other questions, such as any polite hostess would ask of 





146 LENA RIVERS. 


her guest. But her accustomed smile and usual frankness of 
manner were gone, and while John. Jr. felt it keenly, he strove 
under a mask of indifference, to conceal his chagrin. Mabel 
seemed delighted to see him, and for want of something better 
to do, he devoted himself to her, calling her Meb, and teasing 
her about her ‘ Indian locks,”’ as he called her straight, black 
hair. Could he have seen the bitter tears which Nellie con- 
stantly forced back, as she moved carelessly among her guests, 
far different would have been his conduct. But he only felt 
that she had been untrue to him, and in his anger he was hardly 
conscious of what he was doing. 

So when Mabel said to him, ‘ Nellie is going to Europe with 
Mr. Wilbur and Mary,’’ he replied, ‘‘ Glad of it—hope she’ll’”’ 
—-be drowned, he thought—‘‘ have a good time,’’ he said—and 
Nellie, who heard all, never guessed how heavily the blow had 
fallen, or that the hand so suddenly placed against his heart, 
was laid there to still the wild throbbing which he feared she 
might hear. 

When next he spoke, his voice was very calm, as he asked 
when she was going, and how long she intended to be gone. 
‘‘What! so soon ?’’ said he, when told that she sailed the 15th 
of January, and other than that, not a word did he say to Nellie 
concerning her intended visit, until just before they left for 
home. Then for a moment he stood alone with her in the 
recess of a window. ‘There was a film upon his eyes as he 
looked upon her, and thought it might be for the last time. 
There was anguish, too, in his heart, but it did not mingle in 
the tones of his voice, which was natural, and, perhaps, indif- 
ferent, as he said, ‘‘ Why do you go to Europe, Nellie?” 

Quickly, and with something of her olden look, she glanced 
up into his face, but his eyes, which would not meet hers, lest 
they should betray themselves, were resting upon Mabel, who, 
on a stool across the room, was petting and caressing a kitten. 
*Twas enough, and carelessly Nellie answered, ‘‘ Because I want 
to; what do you suppose ?”’ i 

Without seeming to hear her answer, the young man walked 
away to where Mabel sat, and commenced teasing her and her 
kitten, while Nellie, maddened with herself, with him, with 
everybody, precipitately left the room, and going to her cham- 
ber hastily, and without a thought as to what she was doing, 
gathered together every little token which John Jr. had given 
her, together with his notes and letters, written in his own 
peculiar and scarcely legible hand. Tying them in a bundle. 


LENA RIVERS. 147 


she wrote with unflinching nerve, ‘‘Do thow likewise,” and 
then descending to the hall, laid it upon the hat-stand, manag- 
ing, as he was leaving, to place it unobserved in his hand. In- 
stinctively he knew. what it was, glanced at the three words 
written thereon, and in a cold, sneering voice, replied, ‘‘ I wil, 
with pleasure.”’ 

And thus they parted. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 
THE DEPARTURE. 


« Youn, how would you like to take a trip to New Yora— 
the city, I mean?”’ said Mr. Livingstone, to his son, one morn- 
ing about two weeks following the events narrated in the last 
chapter. 

‘¢ Well enough—why do you ask ?’’ answered John. 

‘¢ Because,’’ said his father, ‘‘ I have to-day received a letter 
which makes it necessary for one of us to be there the 15th, and 
as you are fond of traveling, I had rather you would go. You 
had better start immediately—say to-morrow.”’ 

John Jr. started from his chair. ‘To-morrow she left her 
home—the 15th she sailed. He might see her again, though 
at a distance, for she should never know he followed her! 
Since that night in Frankfort he had not looked upon her face, 
but he had kept his promise, returning to her everything— 
everything except a withered rose-bud, which years before, 
when but a boy, he had twined among the heavy braids of her 
hair, and which she had given back to him, playfully fastening 
it in the button-hole of his roundabout! How well he remem- 
bered that day. She was a little romping girl, teasing nim un- 
mercifully about his flat feet and dig hands, chiding him for 
his negro slang, as she termed his favorite expressions, and 
' with whatever else she did, weaving her image into his heart’s 
best and noblest affections, until he seemed to live only for her. 
But now ’twas changed—terribly changed. She was no longer 
‘this Nellie’? the Nellie of his boyhood’s love; and witha 
muttered curse and a tear, large, round, and hot, such as only 
John Jr. could shed, he sent her back every memento of the 
past, all save that rose-bud, with which he could not pat, &% 
seemed so like his early hopes—withered and dead. 


148 LENA RIVERS. 


Nellie was alone, preparing for her journey, when the box 
containing the treasures was handed her. Again and again she 
examined to see if there were not one farewell word, but there 
was nothing save, ‘‘ Here endeth the first lesson !’’ followed by 
two exclamation points, which John Jr. had dashed off at ran- 
dom. Every article seemed familiar to her as she looked them 
over, and everything was there but one—she missed the rose- 
bud—and she wondered at the omission for she knew he had 
it in his possession. He had told her so not three months be. 
fore. Why, then, did he not return it? Was it a lingering 
affection for her which prompted the detention? Perhaps so, 
and down in Nellie’s heart was one warm, bright spot, the 
memory of that bud, which grew green and fresh again, as on 
the day when first it was torn from its parent stem. 

When it was first known at Maple Grove that Nellie way 
going to Europe, Mrs. Livingstone, who saw in the future the 
full consummation of her plans, proposed that Mabel should 
spend the period of Nellie’s absence with her. But to this Mr, 
Douglass would not consent. 

‘‘ He could not part with both his daughters,’’ he said, ang 
Mabel decided to remain, stipulating that ’Lena, of whom she 
was very fond, should pass a portion of the time with her. 

<¢ All the time, if she chooses,’’ said Mr. Douglass, who alsy 
liked ’Lena, while Nellie, who was present, immediately pro- 
posed that she should take music lessons of Monsieur Du Pont. 
who had recently come to the city, and who was said to be a 
superior teacher. ‘‘She is fond of music,’’ said she, ‘‘ and hag 
always wanted to learn, but that aunt of hers never seemed will- 
ing; and this will be a good opportunity, for she can use my 
piano ail the time if she chooses.”’ 

‘Capital!’ exclaimed Mabel, generously thinking how she 
would pay the bills, and how much she would assist "Lena, for 
Mabel was an excellent musician, singing and playing admirably. 

When this plan was proposed to ’Lena, she objected, for two 
reasons. The first, that she could not leave her grandmother, 
and second, that much as she desired the lessons, she would not 
suffer Mabel to pay for them, and she had no means of her own. 
On the first point she began to waver, when Mrs. Nichols, who 
was in unusually good health, insisted upon her going. 

“«Tt will do you a sight of good,”’ said she, ‘‘ and there’s no 
kind of use why you should stay hived up with me. I’d as lief 
be left alone as not, and I shall take comfort thinkin’ you’re 
sarnim’ to play the pianner, for I’ve allus wondered ’Tildy didn’t 


LENA RIVERS. 249 


set you at Car’line’s. So, go,” the old lady continued, whis- 
pering in ’Lena’s ear, ‘‘Go, and mebby some day you'll be a 
music teacher, and take care of us both.’’ 

Still, "Lena hesitated at receiving so much from Mabel, who, 
after a moment’s thought, exclaimed, ‘‘ Why, I can teach you 
myself! I should love to dearly. It will be something to oc- 
cupy my mind; and my instructors have frequently said that I 
was capable of teaching advanced pupils, if Ichose. You'll go 
now, I know ’’—and Mabel plead her cause so well, that "Lena 
finally consented, saying she should come home once a week to 
see her grandmother. 

«‘A grand arrangement, I must confess,’’ said Carrie, when 
she heard of it. ‘I should think she sponged enough from her 
connections, without living on other folks, and poor ones, too, 
like Mr. Douglass.”’ 

‘¢ How ridiculous you talk,’’ said John Jr., who was present. 
¢¢ You'd be perfectly willing to spend a year at Mr. Graham’s, 
or Mr. Douglass’s either, if he had a son whom you considered 
an eligible match. ‘Then as to his being so poor, that’s one of 
Mother Atkins’ yarns, and she knows everybody’s history, from 
Noah down to the present day. For ’Lena’s sake I am glad to 
have her go, though heaven knows what I shall do without 
Heri) 

Mrs. ivingstone, too, was secrettv pleased, for she would 
thus be more out of Durward’s way, and the good lady was 
again becoming somewhat suspicious. So when her husband 
objected, saying "Lena could take lessons at home if she tiked, 
she quietly overruled him, giving many good reasons why 
"Lena should go, and finally saying that if Mrs. Nichols was 
very lonely without her, she might spend her evenings in the 
parlor when there was no company present! So it was decided 
that ’Lena should go, and highly pleased with the result of 
their call, Mr. Douglass and Mabel returned to Frankfort. 

At length the morning came when Nellie was to start on her 
journey. Mr. Wilbur had arrived the night before, together 
with his sister, whose marble cheek and lusterless eye even then 
foretold the lonely grave which awaited her far away ’neath a 
foreign sky. Durward and Mr. Douglass accompanied them as 
far as Cincinnati, where they took the cars for Buffalo. Just 
before it rolled from the depot, a young man closely muffled, 
who had been watching our party, sprang into a car just in the 
rear of the one they had chosen, and taking the first vacant seat, 
abandoned himself to his own thoughts, which must have been 


150 LENA RIVERS. 


very absorbing, as a violent shake was necessary, ere he heeded 
the call of ‘‘ Your ticket, sir.’’ 

Onward, onward flew the train, while faster and faster Nellic’s 
tears were dropping. They had gushed forth when she saw the 
quivering chin and trembling lips of her grey-haired father, as 
he bade his only child good-bye, and now-that he was gone, 
she wept on, never heeding her young friend, who strove in 
vain to call her attention to the fast receding hills of Kentucky, 
which she—Mary—was leaving forever. Other thoughts than 
those of her father mingled with Nellie’s tears, for she could 
not forget John Jr., nor the hope cherished to the last that 
he would .come to say farewell. But he did not. They had 
parted in coldness, if not in anger, and she might never see him 
again. 

<‘ Come, cheer up, Miss Douglass ; I cannot suffer you to be 
so sad,’’ said Mr. Wilbur, placing himself by Nellie, and 
thoughtlessly throwing his arm across the back of the seat, while 
at the same time he bent playfully forward to peep under her 
bonnet. 

And Nellie did look up, smiling through her tears, but she 
did not observe the flashing eyes which watched her through 
the window at the rear of the car. Always restless and im- 
patient of confinement, John Jr. had come out for a moment 
upon the platform, ostensibly to take the air, but really to see 
if it were possible to get a glimpse of Nellie. She was sitting 
not far from the door, and he looked in, just in time to witness 
Mr. Wilber’s action, which he of course construed just as his 
jealousy dictated. | 

“‘Confounded fool!’’ thought he. ‘* 7 wouldn’t hug Nellie 
in the cars in good broad daylight, even if I was married to 
her !’’ . : 
» And returning to his seat, he wondered which was the silliest, 
‘‘for Nellie to run off with Mr. Wilbur, or for himself to run 
after her. Six of one and half a dozen of the other, I reckon,’’ 
said he; at the same time wrapping himself in his shawl, he 
feigned sleep at every station, for the sake of retaining his entire 
seat, and sometimes if the crowd was great, going so far as to 
snore loudly ! 

And thus they proceeded onward, Nellie never suspecting 
the close espionage kept upon her by John Jr., who once in the 
night, at a crowded depot, passed so closely to her that he felt 
her warm breath on his cheek. And when, on the morning of 
the 15th, she sailed, she little thought who it was that followed 


LENA RIVERS. 151 


her down to the water’s edge, standing on the last spot where 
she had stood, and watching with a swelling heart the vessel 
which bore her away. 

“‘’'m nothing better than a walking dead man, now,”’ said 
he, as he retraced his steps back to his hotel. ‘‘ Nellie’s gone, 
and with her all for which I lived, for she’s the only girl except 
*Lena who isn’t a libel on the sex—or, yes—there’s Anna— 
Joes as well as she knows how—and there’s Mabel, a little 
simpleton, to be sure, but amiable and good-natured, and on 
the whole, as smart as they’ll average. ’Twas kind in her, any- 
way, to offer to pay ’Lena’s music bills.’’ 

And with these reflections, John Jr. sought out the men 
whom he had come to see, transacted his business, and then 
started for home, where he found his mother in unusually good 
spirits. Matters thus far had succeeded even beyond her most 
sanguine expectations. Nellie was gone to Europe, and the 
rest she fancied would be easy. ’Lena, too, was gone, but the 
result of this was not what she had hoped. Durward had been 
at Maple Grove but once since ’Lena left, while she had heard 
of his being in Frankfort several times. 

«‘Something must be done’’—her favorite expression—and 
in her difficulty she determined to call upon Mrs. Graham, 
whom she had not seen since Christmas. ‘‘It is quite timeshe 
‘ knew about the grey pony, as well as other matters,’’ thought 
she, and ordering the carriage, she set out one morning for 
Woodlawn, intending to spend the day if she found its mistress 
amiably disposed, which was not always the case. 





CHAPTER XIX. 
THE VISIT. 


Mrs. GRAHAM reclined upon a softly-cushioned sofa, her 
tasteful lace morning-cap half falling from her head, and her 
rich cashmere gown flowing open, so as to reveal the flounced 
cambric skirt which her sewing-girl had sat up till midnight to 
finish. A pair of delicate French slippers pinched rather than 
graced her fat feet, one of which angrily beat the carpet, as if 
keeping time to its mistress’ thoughts. Nervous and uncom- 
fortable was the lady of Woodlawn this morning, for she had 
just passed through a little conjugal scene with her husband, 


I59 LENA RIVERS. 


whom she had called a drufe, lamenting the dispensation of 
Providence which took from her ‘‘ her beloved Sir Arthur, who 
always thought whatever she said was right,’’ and ending by 
throwing herself in the most theatrical manner upon the sofa in 
the parlor, where, with both her blood and temper at a boiling 
heat, she lay, when her waiting-maid, but recently purchased, 
announced the approach of a carriage. 

‘¢ Mercy,”’ exclaimed the distressed lady, ‘‘whose isite? I 
hope no one will ask for me.”’ 

‘‘Reckon how it’s Marster Livingstone’s carriage, ’case 
thar’s Tom on the box,’’ answered the girl, who had her own 
private reason for knowing ‘Tom at any distance. 

‘‘Mrs. Livingstone, I’ll venture to say,’’ groaned Mrs. Gra- 
ham, burying her lace cap and flaxen hair still farther in the 
silken cushions. ‘‘Just because I stopped there a few days 
Jast summer, she thinks she must run here every week; and 
there’s no way of escaping her. Do shut that blind; it lets in 
so much light. ‘There, would you think I'd been crying ?”’ 

‘‘Lor, no,’’ returned the stupid servant, ‘‘ Lor, no, I should 
sooner think your eyes and face were swelled with pzsen.”’ 

‘The Lord help me,’’ exclaimed Mrs. Graham, ‘‘ you don’t 
begin to know as much as poor Charlotte did. She was a 
jewel, and I don’t see anything what she wanted to die for, 
just as I had got her well trained; but that’s all the thanks I 
ever get for my goodness. Now go quick, and tell her I’ve 
got an excruciating headache.”’ 

‘If you please, miss,’’ said the girl, trying in vain to mas- 
ter the big word, ‘‘if you please, give me somethin’ shorter, 
’case I done forgit that ar, sartin’.”’ 

‘‘ Fool! Idiot!’’ exclaimed Mrs. Graham, hurling, for 
want of something better, one of her satin slippers at the 
woolly head, which dodged out of the door in time to avoid 
it. 

‘‘Ts your mistress at home?” asked Mrs. Livingstone, and 
Martha, uncertain what answer she was to make, replied, 
‘¢ Yes—no—I dun know, ’case she done driv me out afore I 
know’'d whether she was at home or not.’’ 

‘«< Martha, show the lady this way,’’ called out Mrs. Graham, 
who was listening. ‘Ah, Mrs. Livingstone, is it youre I’m 
glad to see you,”’ said she, half rising and shading her swollen 
eyes with her hand, as if the least effort were painful. ‘‘ You 
must éxcuse my dishabille, for I am suffering from a bad head- 
ache, and when Martha said some one had come, I thought at 





LENA _IVERS. 153 


first I could not see them, b’.5’2w are always welcome. How 
have you been this long time, and why have you neglected me 
so, when you know how I must feel the change from Louis- 
ville, where I was constantly in society, to this dreary neigh- 
borhood ?’’ and the lady lay back upon the sofa, exhausted 
with and astonished at her own eloquence. 

Mrs. Livingstone was quite delighted with her friend’s un- 
usual cordiality, and seating herself in the large easy-chair, be- 
gan to make herself very agreeable, offering to bathe Mrs. 
Graham’s aching head, which kind offer the lady declined, be- 
thinking herself of sundry grey hairs, which a close inspection 
would single out from among her flaxen tresses. 

<‘Are your family all well? ’’ she asked; to which Mrs. 
Livingstone replied that they were, at the same time speaking 
of her extreme loneliness since Mabel left them. 

«‘Ah, you mean the little dark-eyed brunette, whom I saw 
with you at my party. She was a nice-looking girl—showed 
that she came of a good family. I think everything of that. 


I believe I’d rather Durward would marry a poor aristocrat, 


than a wealthy Xlebelian—one whose family were low and ob- 
scure.”’ 

Mrs. Livingstoue wondered what she thought of her family, 
the Livingstones. The Richards’ blood she knew was good, 
but the Nichols’ was rather doubtful. Still, she would for once 
make the best of it, so she hastened to say that few American 
ladies were so fortunate as Mrs. Graham had been in marrying 
a nobleman. ‘In this country we have no nobility, you 
know,”’ said she, ‘‘and any one who gets rich and into good 
society, is classed with the first.’’ 

“Yes, 1 know,”’ returned Mrs. Graham, ‘‘ but in my mind 
there’s a great difference. Now, Mr. Graham’s ancestors 
boast of the best blood of South Carolina, while my family, 
everybody knows, was one of the first in Virginia, so if Dur- 
ward had been Mr. Graham’s son instead of Sir Arthur’s, 1 
should be just as proud of him, just as particular whom he 
married.’’ , 

‘¢ Certainly,’ answered Mrs. Livingstone, a little piqued, for 
there was something in Mrs. Graham’s manner which annoyed 
her—‘‘certainly—I understand you. I neither married a 
nobleman, nor one of the best bloods of South Carolina, and 
still I should not be willing for my son to marry—let me see— 
well, say ’Lena Rivers.”’ 

‘‘’Lena Rivers!’ repeated Mrs. Graham—‘ why, I would 





154 LENA RIVERS. 


not suffer Durward to look at her, if I could help it. She's of 
a horridly low family on both sides, as I am told.’’ 

This was a home thrust which Mrs. Livingstone could not 
endure quietly, and as she had no wish to defend the royalty 
of a family which she herself despised, she determined to 
avenge the insult by making her companion as uncomfortable 
as possible. So she said, ‘‘Perhaps you are not aware that 
your son’s attentions to this same ’Lena Rivers, are becoming 
somewhat marked.’’ 

‘No, I was not aware of it,’”’ and the greenish-grey eyes 
fastened inquiringly upon Mrs. Livingstone, who continued : 
‘Tt is nevertheless true, and as I can appreciate your feelings, 
I thought it might not be out of place for me to warn you.” 

«Thank you,’’ returned Mrs. Graham, now raising herself 
wpon her elbow; ‘Thank you—but do you know anything 
positive? What has Durward done ?’”’ 

<’?Lena is in Frankfort now, at Mr. Douglass’s,’’ answered 
Mrs. Livingstone, ‘‘and your son is in the constant habit of 
visiting there; besides that, he invited her to ride with kim 
*when they all went to Frankfort—’Lena upon the grey pony 
which your husband gave her as a Christmas present.” 

Mrs. Livingstone had touched the right spot. ’Twas the 
first intimation of Vesta which Mrs. Graham had received, and 
now sitting bolt upright, she demanded what Mrs. Livingstone 
meant. ‘‘My husband give ’Lena Rivers a pony! Harry 
Graham do such athing! It can’t be possible. ‘There must 
be some mistake.’’ 

“‘T think not,’’? returned Mrs. Livingstone. ‘‘ Your son 
came over with it, saying ‘it was a present from his father, 
who sent it, together with his compliments.’ ’’ 

Back among her cushions tumbled Mrs. Graham, moaning, 
groaning, and pronouncing herself wholly heart-broken. ‘I 
knew he was bad,’’ said she, ‘‘ but I never dreamed it had 
come to this. And I might have known it, too, for from the 
moment he first saw that girl, he has acted like a crazy crea- 
ture. ‘Talks about her in his sleep—wants me to adopt her— 
keeps his eyes on her every minute when he’s where she is; 
and to crown all, without consulting me, his lawful wife, he 
has made her a present, which must have cost more than a 
hundred dollars! And she accepted it—the vixen ! ’’ 

‘‘That’s the worst feature in the case,’’ said Mrs. Living- 
stone. ‘‘I have always been suspicious of ’Lena, knowing 


what her mother was, but I must confess I did not think her. 


t 


Se ed a a 


ve 


~y 
; 





LENA RIVERS. 155 


quite so presumptuous as to accept so costly a present from a 
gentleman, and a married one, too. But she has a peculiar 
way of making them think what she does is right, and neither 
my husband nor John Jr. can see any impropriety in her keep- 
ing Vesta. Carrie wouldn’t have done such a thing.” 

‘Indeed she wouldn’t. She is too well-bred for that,’’ said 
Mrs. Graham, who had been completely won by Carrie’s soft 
speeches and fawning manner. 

This compliment to her daughter pleased Mrs. Livingstone, 
who straightway proceeded to build Carrie up still higher, by 
pulling *Lena down. Accordingly, every little thing which 
she could remember, and many which she could not, were told 
in an aggravated manner, until quite a case was made out, and 
"Lena would never have recognized herself in the artful, de- 
signing creature which her aunt kindly pictured her to be. 

‘¢Of course,’’ said she, ‘‘if you ever repeat this, you will 
not use my name, for as she is my husband’s niece it will not 
look well in me to be proclaiming her vices, except in cases 
where I think it my duty.”’ 

Mrs. Graham was too much absorbed in her own retlections 
to make a reply, and as Mrs. Livingstone saw that her com- 
pany was hardly desired, she soon arose to go, asking Mrs. 
Graham ‘‘ why she did not oftener visit Maple Grove.”’ 

When Mrs. Graham felt uncomfortable, she liked to make 
others so, too, and to her friend’s question she answered, <I 
may as well be plain as not, and to tell you the truth, I should 
enjoy visiting you very much, were it not for one thing. That 
mother of yours ’’— 

<¢Of my husband’s,’’ interrupted Mrs. Livingstone, and Mrs. 
Graham continued just where she left off. 

«‘Annoys me exceedingly, by eternally tracing in me a re- 
semblance to some down-east creature or other—what is her 
name—sSco—Sco—Scovandyke; yes, that’s it—Scovandyke. 
Of course it’s not pleasant for me to be told every time I meet 
your mother ’”’ 

“¢ Mr. Lismosione: s mother,” again interrupted the lady. 

‘¢ That I look like some of her acquaintances, for I contend 
that families of high birth bear with them marks which cannot 
be mistaken.”’ 

‘¢ Certainly, certainly,’’ said Mrs. Livingstone, adding, that 
‘‘she was herself continually annoyed by Mrs. Nichols’ vul- 
garity, but her husband insisted that she should come to the 


table, so what could she do?” 


156 LENA RIVERS. 


And mutually troubled, the one about her husband, and the 
other about her husband’s mother, the two amiable ladies parted. 

Scarcely was Mrs. Livingstone gone when Mr. Graham en- 
tered the room, finding his wife, who had heard his footsteps, 
in violent hysterics. He had seen her so too often to be 
alarmed, and was about to pull the bell-rope, when she found 
voice to bid him desist, saying it was himself who was killing 
her by inches, and that the sooner she was dead, the better she 
supposed he would like it. <‘‘ But, for my sake,’’ she added, 
in a kind of howl, between crying and scolding, ‘do try to be- 
have yourself during the short time I have to live, and not go 
to giving away ponies, and mercy knows what.’’ 

Now, Mr. Graham was not conscious of having 4ooked ata 
lady, except through the window, for many days, and when his 
wife first attacked him, he was at a great loss to understand ; 
but as she proceeded it all became plain, and on the whole, he 
felt glad that the worst was over. He would not acknowledge, 
even to himself, that he was afraid of his wife, still he had a 
little rather she would not always know what he did. He sup- 
posed, as a matter of course, that she would, earlier or later, 
hear of his present to "Lena, and he well knew that such an 
event would sureiy be followed by a storm, but after what had 
taken place between them that morning, he did not expect so 
much feeling, for he had thought her wrath nearly expended. 
But Mrs. Graham was capable of great things—as she proved 
on this occasion, taunting her husband with his preference for 
*Lena, accusing him of loving her better than he did herself, 
and asking him plainly, if it were not so. 

‘« Say,” she continued, stamping her foot (the one without a 
slipper), ‘‘say—I w2/7 be answered. Don’t you like ’Lena 
better than you do me?’’ 

Mr. Graham was provoked beyond endurance, and to the 
twice repeated question, he at length replied, ‘God knows I’ve 
far more reason to love her than I have you.’’ At the same 
moment he left the room, in time to avoid a sight of the col- 
lapsed state into which his horrified wife who did not expect 
such an answer, had fallen. 

«‘Can I tell her? oh, dare I tell her?”’ he thought, as he 
wiped the drops of perspiration from his brow, and groaned in 
the bitterness of his spirit. Terribly was he expiating his fault, 
but at last he grew calmer, and cowardice (for he was cow- 
ardly, else he had never been what he was) whispered, ‘‘ Wait 
yet awhile. Anything for domestic peace.” 


- * 


oe we 


C- 


pias 


z . 
: ees 
- 5 
on 


Z 


Q 


ns ae ew ef 


—— a — 





LENA RIVERS. 157 


So the secret was buried still deeper in his bosom, he never 
thinking how his conduct would in the end injure the young 
girl, dearer to him far than his own life. While he sat thus 
alone in his room, and as his wife lay upon her sofa, Durward 
entered the parlor, and began good-humoredly to rally his 
mother upon her woe-begone face, asking what was the matter 
now. 

‘Oh, you poor boy, you,’’ she sobbed, ‘‘ you’ll soon have 
no mother to go to, but you must attribute my death wholly to 
your stepfather, who alone will be to blame for making you an 
orphan !’”’ 

Durward knew his mother well, and he thought he knew his 
father too, and while he respected him, he blamed her for the 
unreasonable whims of which he was becoming weary. He 
knew there had been a jar in the morning, but he had sup- 
posed that settied, and now, when he found his mother ten 
times worse than ever, he felt half vexed, and said, ‘‘ Do be a 
woman, mother, and not give way to such fancies. I really 
wonder father shows as much patience with you as he does, for 
you make our home very unpleasant; and really,’’ he con- 
tinued, in a laughing tone, ‘‘if this goes on much longer, [ 
shall, in self-defense, get me a wife and home of my own.”’ 

<¢ And if report is true, that wife will be "Lena Rivers,’’ said 
Mrs. Graham, in order to try him. 

‘‘Very likely—I can’t tell what may be,’’ was his answer ; 
to which Mrs. Graham replied, ‘‘ that it would be extremely 
pleasant to marry a bride with whom one’s father was in love.’’ 

‘<¢ How ridiculous! ?’? Durward exclaimed. ‘‘ As though my 
father cared aught for "Lena, except to admire her for her 
beauty and agreeable manners.’’ 

‘<But, he’s acknowledged it. He’s just told me, ‘God. 
knew he loved her better than he did me.’ What do you 
think of that ?”’ 

‘‘Did Mr. Graham say that ?’’ asked Durward, looking his 
mother directly in her face. 

“‘ Yes, he did, not fifteen minutes before you came in, and 
it’s not a secret either. Others know it and talk about it. 
Think of his giving her that pony.” 

Durward was taken by surprise. Knowing none of the 
circumstances, he felt deeply pained at his father’s remark. 
He had always supposed he liked ’Lena, and he was glad of it, 
too, but to love her more than his own wife, was a different 
thing, and for the first time in his life Durward distrusted his 


158 LENA RIVERS. 


father. Still, "Lena was not to blame; there was comfort in 
that, and that very afternoon found him again at her side, ad- 
miring her more and more, and learning each time he saw her 
to love her better. And she—she dared not. confess to herself 
how dear he was to her—she dared not hope her affection was 
returned. She could not think of the disappointment the future 
might bring, so she lived on the present, waiting anxiously for 
his coming, and striving hard to do the things which she 
thought would please him best. 

True to her promise, Mabel had commenced giving her in- 
structions upon the piano, and they were in the midst of their 
first lesson, when who should walk in, but Monsieur Du Pont, 
bowing, and saying ‘‘he had been hired by von nice gentle- 
man, to give Mademoiselle Rivers lessons in musique.” 

"Lena immediately thought of her uncle, who had once pro- 
posed her sharing in the instructions of her cousin, but who, as 
usual, was overruled by his wife. 

«¢ Twas my uncle, was it not P’’ she asked of Du Pont, who 
replied, ‘‘I promised not totell. He say, though, he connected 
with mademoiselle.”’ : 

And ’Lena, thinking it was of course Mr. Livingstone, who, 
on his wife’s account, wished it a secret, readily consented to 
receive Du Pont as a teacher in place of Mabel, who still ex: 
pressed her willingness to assist her whenever it was necessary. 
Naturally fond of music, ’Lena’s improvement was rapid, and 
when she found how gratified Durward appeared, she redoubled 
her exertions, practicing always five, and sometimes six hours 


a day. 





CHAPTER XX. 
A FATHER’S LOVE. 


WHEN it was known at Maple Grove that "Lena was taking 
lessons of Du Pont, it was naturally supposed that Mabel, as 
she had first proposed, paid the bills. 

‘‘Mighty kind in her, and no mistake,’’ said John Jr., 
throwing aside the stump of a cigar which he had been smok- 

ng, and thinking to himself that ‘‘ Mabel was a nice girl, after 
a bd 

The next day, finding the time hang heavily upon his hands, 
he suddenly wondered why he had never thought to call upon 
"Lena. ‘To be sure, I’ll feel awfully to go where Nellie used 





y 
Sn Nae! 


\ 


a SE 
Q 


LENA RIVERS. 159 


to be, and know she is not there, but it’s lonesomer than a 
graveyard here, and I’m bound to do something.”’ 

So saying, he mounted Firelock and started off, followed by 
no regrets from his mother or sisters, foi since Nellie went 
away he had been intolerably cross and fault-finding. He 
found a servant in the door, so he was saved the trouble of 
ringing, and entering unannounced, waiked noiselessly to the 
parlor-door, which was ajar. ’Lena, as usual, sat at the piano, 
wholly absorbed, while over her bent Mabel, who was assist- 
ing her in the lesson, speaking encouragingly, and patiently 
helping her through all the difficult places. Mabel’s health was 
improved since first we saw her, and though she was still plain 
—ugly, many would say—there was something pleasing in her 


- face, and in the expression of her black eyes, which looked 


down so kindly upon "Lena. John Jr. noticed it, and never 
before had Mabel appeared to so good advantage to him as she 
did at that moment, as he watched her through the open door. 

At last the lesson was finished, and rising up, ’Lena said, 
«I know I should never learn if it were not for you,”’ at the 
same time winding her arm about Mabel’s neck and kissing 
her glowing cheek. 

‘Let me have a share of that,’’ exclaimed John Jr., stepping 
forward and clasping both the girls in his arms ere they were 
aware of his presence. 

With a gay laugh they shook him off, and ’Lena leading him 
to the sofa, sat down beside him, asking numerous questions 
about home and her grandmother. John answered them all, 
and then, oh how he longed to askif there had come any tid: 
ings of the absent one; but he would not—she had left him of 
her own accord, and he had sworn never to inquire for her. 
So he sat gazing dreamily upon her piano, the chair she used 
to occupy and the books she used to read, until "Lena, eithez 
divining his thoughts, or fancying he would wish to know, 
said, ‘‘ We’ve not heard from Nellie since she left us.’’ 

“You didn’t expect to, so soon, I suppose,’’ was John’s in: 
different reply. 

‘‘ Why, no, not unless they chanced to speak a ship. I wish 
they’d taken a steamer instead of a sailing vessel,’’ said "Lena. 

‘¢T suppose Mr. Wilbur had an eye upon the long, cosy chats 
he could have with Nellie, looking out upon the sea,’’ was 
John’s answer, while Mabel quickly rejoined, that ‘‘he had 
chosen a sailing vessel solely on Mary’s account.”’ 

In the midst of their conversation, the door-bell rang ; and @ 


160 LENA RIVERS, 


moment after, Durward was ushered into the parlor. ‘He 
was in town on business,”’ he said, ‘‘ and thought he would call.” 

Scarcely had he taken his seat, when again the door opened, 
this time admitting Mr. Graham, who was returning from 
Louisville, and had also found it convenient to call. Involun- 
tarily Durward glanced toward ’Lena, but her face was as calm 
and unruffied as if the visitor had been her uncle. 

«‘All right there,’ thought he, and withdrawing his eyes 
from her, he fixed them upon his father, who he fancied seemed 
somewhat disconcerted when he saw him there. Mentally 
blaming himself for the distrust which he felt rising within 
him, he still determined to watch, and judge for himself how 
far his mother’s suspicions were correct. ‘Taking up a book 
which lay near, he pretended to be reading, while all the time 
his thoughts were elsewhere. It was ’Lena’s lesson-day, and 
erelong Du Pont came in, appearing both pleased and surprised 
when he saw Mr. Graham. 

‘¢T hope you don’t expect me to expose my ignorance before 
all these people,’’ said "Lena, as Du Pont motioned her to the 
stool. 

‘¢ Suppose we adjourn to another room,”’ said Mabel, leading 
the way and followed by John Jr. only. 

Durward at first thought of leaving also, and arose to do so, 
but on observing that his father showed no intention of going, 
he resumed his seat and book, poring over the latter as intently 
as if it had not been wrong side up! 

Does monsieur incline to stay?’’ asked Du Pont, as Mr. 
Graham took his station at the end of the piano. 

‘“« Certainly,’””? answered Mr. Graham, ‘‘unless Miss Rivers 
insists upon my leaving, which I am sure she would not do if 
she knew how much interest I take in her progress.’’ 

So during the entire lesson, Mr. Graham stood there, his 
eyes fixed upon ’Lena with a look which puzzled Durward, 
who from behind his book was watching him. Admiration, af- 
fection, pity and remorse, all seemed mingled in the expression 
of his face, and as Durward watched, he felt that there was a 
something which he could not fathom. 

‘«<T never knew he was so fond of music,”’ thought he — “I 
mean to put him to the test.’’ 

Accordingly, when Du Pont was gone, he asked Mabel, who 
he knew was an excellent pianist, to favor him with one of her 
very best pieces—‘‘ something lively and new which will wake 
us up,’’ said he. 


TELA * 


LENA RIVERS. | 16] 
* 

Mabel would greatly have preferred remaining with John fr., 
but she was habitually polite, always playing when invited, and 
now taking her seat at the piano, she brought out sounds far 
different from those of a new performer. But Mr. Graham, if 
he heard it, did not heed it, his eyes and ears being alone for 
*Lena. Seating himself near her, he commenced talking to her 
in an undertone, apparently oblivious to everything else around 
him, and it was not until Durward twice asked how he liked 
Mabel’s playing, that he heard a note. Then, starting up and 
going toward the instrument, he said, ‘‘ Ah, yes, that was a 
fine march, (‘twas the ‘‘ Rainbow Schottish,’’ then new, ) please 
repeat it, or something just like it!”’ 

Durward bit his lip, while Mabel, in perfect geod humor, 
dashed off into a spirited quickstep, receiving but little atten- 
tion from Mr. Graham, who seemed in a strange mood to-day, 
scribbling upon a piece of white paper which lay upon the 
piano, and of which Durward managed to get possession, find- 
ing thereon the name, ‘‘ Helena Nichols,’’ to which was added 
that of ‘‘ Rivers,’’ the Nichols being crossed out. It would 
seem as if both father and son were determined each to outstay 
the other, for hour after hour went by and neither spoke of 
leaving, although john Jr. had been gone some time. At last, 
as the sun was setting, Durward arose to go, asking if his father 
contemplated ‘spending the night; ‘and if so,” said he, with 
4 ee in his manner, ‘‘ where shall I tell my mother I left 
you 99 

This roused Mr. Graham, who said he was only waiting for 
his son to start, adding, that ‘‘he could not find it in his heart 
to tear him away from two so agreeable ladies, for he well re- 
membered the weakness of his own youth.”’ 

‘‘In your second youth, now, I fancy,’’ thought Durward, 
watching him as he bade ’Lena and Mabel good-bye, and not 
failing to see how much longer he held the hand of the former 
than he did of the latter. 

‘* Does she see as I do, or not ?’’ thought he, as he took the 
hand his father dropped, and looked earnestly into the clear, 
brown eyes, whick returned his inquiring glance with one open 
and innocent as a little child. 

‘All right here,’’ again thought Durward, slightly pressing 
the soft, warm hand he held in his own, and smiling down 


‘upon her when he saw how quickly that pressure brought the 


telitale blood to her cheek. 
“e 4 te Ed % # 


162 LENA RIVERS. 


<< Durward,’" said Mr. Graham, after they were out of the 
city, ‘‘I have a request to make of you.”’ 

eewWell;:’ 

The answer was very short and it was several minutes ere 
Mr. Graham again spoke. 

<¢ You know your mother as well as I do”” — 

“ Well.”’ 

Another silence, and Mr. Graham continued: ** You know 
how groundlessly jealous she is of me—and it may be just as 
well for her not to know that’’ — 

Here he paused, and Durward finished the sentence for him. 

«Just as well for her not to know that you’ve spent the 
afternoon with ’Lena Rivers; is that it?”’ 

«¢ That’s it—yes—yes ’’—-answered Mr. Graham, adding, ere 
Durward had time to utter the angry words which he felt rising 
within him, ‘‘I wish you’d marry *Lena.”’ 

This was so sudden—so different from anything which Dur- 
ward had expected, that he was taken quite by surprise, and it 
was some little time ere he answered, ‘‘ Perhaps I shall.’ 

<¢] wish you would,” continued Mr. Graham, “I'd willingly 
give every dollar I’m worth for the pr-vilege of calling her my 
daughter.”’ 

Durward was confounded, and knew not what to think. If 
his father had an undue regard for "Lena, why should he wish 
to see her the wife of another, and that other hisson? Was 
it his better and nobler nature struggling to save her from evil, 
which prompted the wish? Durward hoped so—he believed 
so; and the confidence which had so recently been shaken was 
fully restored, when, by the light of the hall lamp at home, he 
saw how white and almost ghostly was the face which, ere they 
entered the drawing-room, turned imploringly upon him, ask- 
ing him ‘to be careful.’ 

Mrs. Graham had been in a fit of the sulks ever since the 
morning of Mrs. Livingstone’s call, and now, though she had 
not seen her husband for several days, she merely held out her 
hand, turning her head, meantime, and replying to his ques- 
tions in a low, quiet kind of a much-injured-woman way, as 
provoking as it was uncalled for. 

* * * * * * %* 

‘‘Father’s suggestion was a good one,’”’ thought Durward, 
when he had retired to rest. ‘‘’Lena is too beautiful to be 
alone in the world. I will propose to her at once, and she will 
thus be out of danger.’ 


—~ PY 
% 2) ty Pe gn 2 
if Nie mn, > WV ae ay Te a i 


¢ > i a : Yen 


‘ens 


oe 


cS 


~ 


LENA RIVERS. 163 


But what should he do with her? Should he bring her there 
to Woodiawn, where scarcely a day passed without some do- 
mestic storm? No, his home should be full of sunlight, of 
music and flowers, where no angry word or darkening frown 
could ever find entrance; and thus dreaming of a blissful 
future, when ’Lena should be his bride, he fell asleep. 





CHAPTER XXI. 
JOEL SLOCUM. 


fer this chapter it may not be out of place to introduce an 

individual who, though not a very important personage, is still 
in some degree connected with our story. On the night when 
Durward and his father were riding home from Frankfort, the 
family at Maple Grove, with the exception of grandma, were as 
usual assembled in the parlor. John Jr. had returned, and 
purposely telling his mother and Carrie whom he had left with 
"Lena, had succeeded in putting them both into an uncomfort- 
able humor, the latter secretly lamenting the mistake which she 
had committed in suffering ’Lena to stay with Mabel. But it 
could not be remedied now. ‘There was no good reason for 
calling her home, and the lady broke at least three cambric- 
needles in her vigorous jerks at the handkerchief she was hem- 
ming. 
A heavy tread upon the piazza, a loud ring of the bell, and 
Carrie straightened up, thinking it might possibly be Durward, 
who had called on his way home, but the voice was strange, 
and rather impatiently she waited. 

<‘ Does Mr. John Livingstone live here?’’ asked the stranger 
of the negro who answered the summons. 

«‘ Yes, sir,’? answered the servant, eying the newcomer 
askance. 

‘¢ And is old Miss Nichols and Helleny to hum?” 

The negro grinned, answering in the affirmative, and asking 
the young man to walk in. 

‘Wall, guess I will,’’ said he, advancing a few steps toward 
the parlor door. ‘Then suddenly halting, he added, more to 
himself than to the negro, ‘‘ Darned if I don’t go the hull figger, 
and send in my card as they do to Boston.’’ 

So saying, he drew from his pocket an embossed card, and 


164. LENA RIVERS. 


Dending nis knee for a table, he wrote with sundry flourishes, 
‘¢ Mr. Joel Slocum, Esq., Slocumville, Massachusetts.”’ 

‘‘There, hand that to your doss,”’ said he, ‘‘and tell him 
I’m out in the entry.’’ At the same time he stepped before the 
hat-stand, rubbing up his oily hair, and thinking ‘‘ Mr. Joel 
Slocum would make an impression anywhere.”’ 

‘© Who is it, Ben ?’’ whispered Carrie. 

‘<¢ Dunno, miss,” said the negro, passing the cad. to his mas- 
ter, and waiting in silence for his orders. 

‘*Mr. Joel Slocum, Esq., Slocumville, Massachusetts,”’ 
slowly read Mr. Livingstone, wondering where he had heard 
that name before. 

<‘ Who ?’’ simultaneously asked Carrie and Anna, while their 
mother looked wonderingly up. 

Instantly John Jr. remembered ’Lena’s love-letter, and an- 
ticipating fun, exclaimed, ‘‘Show him in, Ben—show him in,”’ 

While Ben is showing him in, we will introduce him more 
fully to our readers, promising that the picture is not over- 
drawn, but such as we saw it in our native state. Joel belonged 
to that extreme class of Yankees with which we sometimes, 
though not often meet. Brought up among the New England 
mountains, he was almost wholly ignorant of what really be- 
longed to good manners, fancying that he knew everything, 
and sneering at those of his acquaintance who, being of a more 
quiet turn of mind, were content to settle down in the home of 
their fathers, caring little or nothing for the world without. . 
But as for him, ‘‘he was bound,” he said, ‘‘to see the ele- 
phant, and if his brothers were green enough to stay tied to 
their mother’s apron strings, they might do it, but he wouldn’t. 
No, szv / he was going to make something of himself.’’ 

To effect this, about two years before the time of which we 
are speaking, he went to Boston to learn the art of daguerreo- 
type-taking, in which he really did seem to excel, returning 
home with some money, a great deal of vanity, and a strong 
propensity to boast of what he had seen. Recollections of 
"Lena, his early, and, as he sentimentally expressed it, ‘his 
undying, all-enduring ’” love, still haunted him, and at last he 
determined upon a tour to Kentucky, purchasing for the occa- 
sion a rather fantastic suit, consisting of greenish pants, blue 
coat, red vest, and yellow neck-handkerchief. These he laid 
carefully by in his trunk until he reached Lexington, where he 
intended stopping for a time, hanging out a flaming sign, which 
announced his presence and capabilities. 


Ah 


mF 


LENA RIVER. 165 


After spending a few days in the city, endeavoring to impress 
its inhabitants with a sense of his consequence, and mentaily 
styling them all ‘*‘ Know Nothings,’’ because they did not seem 
to be more affected, he one afternoon donned his best suit, and 
started for Mr. Livingstone’s, thinking he should create.a sen- 
sation there; for wasn’t he as good as anybody? Didn’t he 
learn his trade in Boston, the very centre and source of all the 
zsms of the day, and ought not Mr. Livingstone to feel proud 


_ of such a guest, and wouldn’t ’Lena stare when she saw him so 


much improved from what he was when they picked checker- 
berries together P 

With this comfortable opinion of himself, it is not at all 
probable that he felt any misgivings when Ben ushered him at 
once into the presence of Mr. Livingstone’s family, who stared 
at him in unfeigned astonishment. Nothing daunted, he went 
through with the five changes of a bow, which he had learned 
at a dancing-school, bringing himself up coe in front of Mr. 
Livingstone, and exclaiming, 

‘¢ How-dy-dor—Mr. Livingstone, I s’ pose, it comes more 
natural to say Cousin John, I’ve heard Miss Nichols and Aunt 
Nancy talk of you since I was knee high, and seems as how 


you must be related. How is the old lady, and Helleny, too?. 


I don’t see ’em here, though I thought, at fust, this might be 
her,’’ nodding to Anna. 

Mr. Livingstone was confounded, while his wife had strong 
intentions of ordering the intruder from the room, but John Jr. 
had no such idea. He liked the fun, and now coming forward, 
said, ‘‘Mr. Slocum as your card indicates, allow me the pleas- 
ure of presenting you to my mother—and sisters ; ’’ at the same 
time ringing the bell, he ordered a servant to go for his grand- 
mother. 

‘¢ Ah, ladies, how-dy-do? Hope you are well till we are 
better acquainted,’”’ said Joel, bowing low, and shaking out the 
folds of his red silk handkerchief, strongly perfumed with pep- 
permint. 

Mrs. Livingstone did not even nod, Carrie but slightly, while 
Anna said, ‘‘ Good-evening, Mr. Slocum.’’ 

Quickly observing Mrs. Livingstone’s silence, Joel turned to 
john Jr., saying, ‘‘ Don’t believe she heard you. deaf, mebby ?”’ 

John Jr. nodded, and at that moment grandma appeared, in 
a great flurry to know who wanted to see her. 

Instantly seizing her hand, Joel exclaimed, ‘“‘ Now, Aunt 
Martha, if this ain’t good for sore eyes. How do you do?” 


166 LENA RIVERS, 


‘‘ Pretty well, pretty well,’’ she returned, ‘‘but you’ve got 
the better of me, for I don’t know more’n the dead who you 
be.”’ 

‘«Now how you talk,’ said Joel. ‘If this don’t beat all my 
fust wife’s relations. Why, Ishould have known youif I’d met 
you in a porridge-pot. But then, I s’pose I’ve altered for the 
better since I see you. Don’t you remember Joel Slocum, that 
used to have kind of a snickerin’ notion after Helleny?”’ 

‘‘Why-ee, I guess I do,’’ answered grandma, again seizing 
his hand. ‘‘Where did you come from, and why didn’t your 
Aunt Nancy come with you? 

<«*Tilda, this is Nancy Scovandyke’s sister’s boy. Car’line 
and Anny, this is Joel; you’ve heard tell of him.’’ 

«‘T’ve been introduced, thank you,”’ said Joel, taking a seat 
near Carrie, who haughtily gathered up the ample folds of her 
dress, lest it should be polluted. 

‘¢ Bashful critter, but she’ll get over it by the time she’s seen 
as much of the world as I have,”’ soliloquized Joel; at the 
same time ‘thinking to make some advances, he hitched a little 
nearer, and taking hold of a strip of embroidery on which she 
was engaged, he said, ‘‘ Now, du tell, if they’ve got to workin’ 
with floss way down here. Waste of time, I tell ’em, this 
makin’ holes for the sake of sewin’’em up. But law!’’ he 
added, as, he saw the deepening scowl on Carrie’s face, 
‘‘wimmin may jest as well be putterin’ about that as anything 
else, for their time ain’t nothin’ more’n an old settin’ hen’s.”’ 

This speech called forth the first loud roar in which John Jr. 
had indulged since Nellie went away, and now settling back in 
his chair, he gave vent to his feelings in peals of laughter, in 
which Joel also joined, thinking he’d said something smart. 
When at last he’d finished laughing, he thought again of ’Lena, 
and turning to Mrs. Livingstone, asked where she was, raising 
his voice to a high key on account of her supposed deafness. 

‘* Did you speak to me?’”’ asked the lady, with a look which 
she meant should annihilate him, and in a still louder tone Joel 
repeated his question, asking Anna, aside, if her mother had 
ever tried ‘‘ McAllister’s All-Healing Ointment,’’ for her deaf- 
ness, Saying it had ‘‘nighly cured his grandmother when she 
was several years older than Mrs. Livingstone.’’ 

** Much .obliged for your prescription, which, fortunately, I 
do not need,’’ said Mrs. Livingstone, angrily, while Joel 
thought, ‘‘ how strange it was that deaf people would always 
hear in the wrong time !’’ 


LENA RIVERS. 187 


** Mother don’t seem inclined to answer your question con- 
cerning ’Lena,”’ said John Jr., ‘‘so I will do it for her. She is 
in Frankfort, taking music lessons. You used to know her, I 
believe.”’ 

‘‘Lud, yes! I chased her once with a streaked snake, and 
if she didn’t put ’er through, then I’m no judge. Takin’ mu- 
sic lessons, is she? I’d give a fo’pence to hear her play.”’ 

‘«¢ Are you fond of music ?’’ asked John Jr., in hopes of what 
followed. 

<¢Wall, I wouldn’t wonder much if I was,”’ answered Joel, 
taking a tuning-fork from his pocket and striking it upon the 
table. <‘‘I’ve kep’ singin’ school one term, besides leadin’ the 
Methodis’ choir in Slocumville: so I orto know a little some- 
thin’ abont it.” 

‘‘Perhaps you play, and if so, we'd like to hear you,’’ con- 
tinued John Jr., in spite of the deprecating glance cast upon 
him by Carrie. 

‘‘Not such a dreadful sight,’’ answered Joel, sauntering 
toward the piano and drumming a part of ‘‘ Auld Lang Syne.” 
¢« Not such a dreadful sight, but I guess these girilsdo. Come, 
pirls, play us a jig, won’t you?”’ 

“‘Go, Cad, it won’t hurt you,’’ whispered John, but Carrie 
was immovable, and at last, Anna, who entered more into her 
brother’s spirit, took her seat at the instrument, asking what he 
would have. 

‘‘Oh, give us ‘Money Musk,’ ‘ Hail Columby,’ ‘Old Zip 
Coon,’ or anything to raise a feller’s ideas.” 

Fortunately, Anna’s forte lay in playing old music, which 
she preferred to more modern pieces, and Joel was soon beat- 
ing time to the lively strains of ‘‘ Money Musk.”’ 

‘Wall, I declare,’’ said he, when it was ended, ‘‘I don’t see 
but what you Kentucky gals play most as well as they do to 
hum. I didn’t s’pose many on you ever seen a pianner. 
Come,’’ turning to Carrie, ‘‘less see what youcando. Mebby 
you'll beat her all holler,’’ and he offered his hand to Carrie, 
who rather petulantly said she ‘‘ must be excused.”’ 

‘©Oh, get out,’’? he continued. ‘* You needn’t feel so bash- 
ful, for I shan’t criticise you very hard. I know how to feel 
fer new beginners.’’ 

‘‘Have you been to supper, Mr. Slocum ?”’ asked Mr. Liv- 
ingstone, pitying Carrie, and wishing to put an end to the per- 

mance. 

“No, I hain’t, and I’m hungrier than a bear,’”’ answered Joel, 


> 


168 LENA RIVERS. 


whereupon Mrs. Nichols, thinking he was her guest, arose, say: 
ing she would see that he had some. 

When both were gone to the dining-room, Mrs. Livingstone’s 
wrath boiled over. 

««That’s what comes of harboring your relatives,”’ said she, 
looking indignantly upon her husband, and adding that she 
hoped ‘‘ the insolent fellow did not intend staying all night, for 
1f he did he couldn’t.”’ 

<‘Do you propose turning him into the street ?’’ asked Mr. 
Livingstone, looking up from his paper. 

«<7 don’t propose anything, except that he won’t stay in my 
house, and you needn’t ask him.” 

‘‘T hardly think an invitation is necessary, for I presume he 
expects to stay,’’ returned Mr. Livingstone; while John Jr. re- 
joined, *‘ Of course he does, and if mother doesn’t find him a 
room, I shall take him in with me, besides going to Frankfort 
with him to-morrow.” 

This was enough, for Mrs. Livingstone would do almost any- 
thing rather than have her son seen in the city with that speci- 
men. Accordingly, when the hour for retiring arrived, she or- 
dered Corinda to show him into the ‘‘east chamber,’’ a room 
used for her common kind of visitors, but which Joel pro- 
nounced *‘ as neat as a fiddle.” 

The next morning he announced his intention of visiting 
Frankfort, proposing to grandma that she should accompany 
him, and she was about making up her mind to do so, when 
*Lena and Mabel both appeared in the yard. ‘They had come 
out for a ride, they said, and finding the morning so fine, had 
extended their excursion as far as Maple Grove, sending their 
servant back to tell where they were going. With his usual as- 
surance, Joel advanced toward ’Lena, greeting her tenderly, 
and whispering in her ear that ‘‘ he found she was greatly im- 
proved as well as himself,’’ while "Lena wondered in what the 
improvement consisted. She had formerly known him as a 
great, overgrown, good-natured boy, and now she saw him a 
*‘conceited gawky.”’ Still, her manner was friendly toward 
him, for he had come from her old home, had breathed the air 
of her native hills, and she well remembered how, years ago, 
he had with her planted and watered the flowers which he told 
her were still growing at her mother’s grave. 

And yet there was something about her which puzzled Joel, 
who felt that the difference between them was great. He was 
‘disappointed, and the declaration which he had fully intended 


LENA RIVERS. 169 


making was left until another time, when, as he tnought, **he 
shouldn’t we so confounded shy of her.’’ His quarters, too, at 
Maple Grove were not the most pleasant, for no one noticed 
him except grandma and John Jr., and with the conviction that 
“‘the Kentuckians didn’t know what politeness meant,’’ he or- 
dered his horse after dinner, and started back to Lexington, in- 
viting all the family to call and «set for their picters,” saying 
that ‘‘seein’ ’twas them, he’d take ’em for half price.’’ 

As he was leaving the piazza, he turned back, and drawing 
a large, square case from his pocket, passed it to Lena, saying 
it was a daguerreotype of her mountain home, which he had 
taken on purpose for her, forgetting to give it to her until that 
minute. The look of joy which lighted up ’Lena’s face made 
Joel almost repent of not having said to her what he intended 
to, but thinking he would wait till next time, he started off, his 
heart considerably lightened by her warm thi.aks for his thought- 
fulness. 





CHAPTER XXII. 
THE DAGUERREOTYPE, 


** Loox, grandmother !—a picture of our old home. Isn't 
it natural?’’ exclaimed ’Lena, as she ran back to the parlor. 

Yes, it was natural, and the old lady’s tears gushed forth the 
moment she looked upon it. There was the well, the garden, 
the gate partially open, the barn in the rear, now half fallen 
down, the curtain of the west window rolled up as it was wont 
to be, while on the doorstep, basking in the watm sunshine, lay 
a cat, which Mrs. Nichols declared was hers. 

*¢ John ought to see this,’ said she, wiping the tears from 
her eyes, and turning toward the door, which at that moment 
opened, admitting her son, together with Mr. Graham, who 
had accidentally called. ‘Look here, John,” said she, calling 
him to her side—‘‘ Do you remember this?” 

The deep flush which mounted to John’s brow, showed that 
he did, and his mother, passing it toward Mr. Graham, con- 
tinued: ‘It is our old home in Massachusetts. ‘There’s the 
room where John and Helleny both were born, and where 
Helleny and her father died. Oh, it seems but yesterday since 
she died, and they carried her out of this door, and down the 
road, there—do you see?” 


170 LENA RIVERS. 


This question was addressed to Mr. Graham, who, whether 
he saw or not, made no answer, but walked to the window and 
looked out upon the prospect beyond, which for him had no 
attractions then. ‘The sight of that daguerreotype had stirred 
up many bitter memories, and for some time he stood gazing 
vacantly through the window, and thinking—who shall say of 
what? It would seem that the daguerreotype possessed a 
strong fascination for him, for after it had been duly examined 
and laid down, he took it in his hand, inspecting it minutely, 
asking where it was taken, and if it would be possible to pro- 
cure a similar one. 

‘‘T have a fancy for such scenes,”’ said he, ‘‘ and would like 
to have just such a picture. Mr. Slocum is stopping in Lex- 
ington, you say. He can take one from this, I suppose. I 
mean to see him;’’ and with his usual good-morning, he de- 
parted. 

Two weeks from this time Durward again went down to 
Frankfort, determining, if a favorable opportunity presented it- 
self, to offer "Lena his heart and fortune. 

He found her alone, Mabel having gone out to spend the 
day. For a time they conversed together on indifferent topics, 
each one of which was entirely foreign from that which lay 
nearest Durward’s heart. At last the conversation turned upon 
Joel Slocum, of whose visit Durward had heard. 

“‘T really think, "Lena,”’ said he, laughingly, ‘“‘that you 
ought to patronize the poor fellow, who has come ali this dis- 
tance for the sake of seeing you. Suppose you have your 
daguerreotype taken for me, will you?”’ | 

Durward was in earnest, but with a playful shake of her 
brown curls, "Lena answered lightly, ‘*Oh, no, no. Ihave 
never had my picture taken in my life, and I shan’t begin with 

pel! 

‘* Never had it taken !’’ repeated Durward, in some surprise. 

‘No, never,”’ said "Lena, and Durward continued, drawing 
her nearer to him, ‘It is time you had, then. So have it taken 
for me. I mean what I say,’’ he continued, as he met the 
glance of her merry eyes. ‘There is nothing I should prize 
more than your miniature, except, indeed the original, which 
you will not refuse me, when I ask it, will you?”’ 

*Lena’s mirth was all gone—she knew he was in earnest now. 
She felt it in the pressure of his arm, which encircled her 
waist; she saw it in his eye, and heard it in the tones of his 
yoice. But what should she say? Closer he drew her to his 


LENA BIVERS. i71 


side; she felt his breath upon her cheek; and an inaudible 
answer trembled on her lips, when noiselessly through the door 
came Mr. Graham, starting when he saw their position, and 
offering to withdraw if he was intruding. "Lena was surprised 
and excited, and springing up, she laid her hand upon his arm 
as he was about to leave the room, bidding him stay and say- 
ing he was always welcome there. 

So he stayed, and with the first frown upon his brow which 
"Lena had ever seen, Durward left—ieft without receiving an 
answer to his question, or even referring to it again, though 
"Lena accompanied him to the door, half dreading, yet hoping, 
he would repeat it. But he did not, and wishing her much 
pleasure in his father’s company, he walked away, writing in 
his heart bitter things against Az, not her. On his way home 
he fell in with Du Pont, who, Frenchman-like, had taken a 
little too much wine, and was very talkative. 

‘*Vous just come from Mademoiselle Rivers,’’ said he. 
pens be von fine girl. What relation be she to Monsieur Gra- 

am 9? 

«‘ None whatever. Why do you ask?”’ 

‘* Because he pay her musique lessons and ”— 

Here Du Pont suddenly remembered his promise, so he kept 
back Mr. Graham’s assertion that he was a near relative, add- 
ing in its place, that ‘‘he thought probable he related; but 
you no tell,”’ said he, ‘‘ for monsieur bid me keep secret and I 
forgot.’’ 

Here, having reached a crossroad, they parted, and again 
Durward wrote down bitter things against his father, for what 
could be his object in wishing it kept a secret that he was pay- 
ing for ’Lena’s lessons, or why did he pay for them at all— 
and did ’Lena know it? He thought not, and for a time 
longer was she blameless in his eyes. 

On reaching home he found both the parlor and drawing- 
room deserted, and upon inquiry learned that his mother was 
in her own room. Something, he could hardly tell what, 
prompted him to knock for admission, which being granted, 
he entered, finding her unusually pale, with the trace of tears still 
upon her cheek. This of itself was so common an occurrence, 
that he would hardly have observed it had not there been 
about her a look of unfeigned distress which he had seldom 
seen before. @ 

‘‘What’s the matter, mother?’’ said he, advancing toward 
her. ‘‘ What has happened to trouble you?” 


173 LENA RIVERS. 


Withou. any yeply, Mrs. Graham placed in bs hand a . 
richly-cased daguerreotype, and laying her head upon the table, 
sobbed aloud. A moment Durward stood transfixed to the 
spot, for on opening the case, the fair, beautiful face of ’ Lena 
ftivers looked smilingly out upon him! 

‘¢ Where did you get this, mother P—how came you by it?”’ 
he asked, and she answered, that in looking through her 
husband’s private drawer, the key of which she had accidentally 
found in his vest pocket, she had come upon it, together with a 
curl of soft chestnut-brown hair which she threw across Dur- 
ward’s finger, and from which he recoiled as from a viper’s 
touch. 

For several minutes not a word was spoken by either, and 
then Mrs. Graham, looking him in the face, said, ‘‘ You rec- 
Dgnize that countenance, of course ?’’ 

‘I do,” he replied, in a voice husky with emotion, for Dur- 
ward was terribly moved. 

Twice had ’Lena asserted that never in her life had her da- 
guerreotype been taken, and yet he held it in his hands; there 
was no mistaking it—the same broad, open brow-—-the same 
full, red lips—the same smile—and more than ail, the 
same clustering ringlets, though arranged a little differently 
from what she usually wore them, the hair on the picture being 
combed smoothly over the forehead, while ’Lena’s was gener- 
ally brushed up after the style of the prevailing fashion. Had 
Durward examined minutely, he might have found other points 
of difference, but he did not think of that. <A look had con- 
vinced him that ’twas ’Lena—/zs ’Lena, he had fondly hoped 
to call her. But that was over now—she had deceived him— 
told him a deliberate falsehood—refused 42m her daguerreotype 
and given it to his father, whose secrecy concerning it indicated 
something wrong. His faith was shaken, and yet for the sake 
of what she had been to him, he would spare her good name. 
He could not bear to hear the world breathe aught against her, 
for possibly she might be innocent; but no, there was no mis- 
taking the falsehood, and Durward groaned in bitterness as he 
handed the picture to his mother, bidding her return it where 
she found it. Mrs. Graham had never seen her son thus 
moved, and obeying him, she placed her hand upon his arm, 
asking, ‘‘ why he was so affected—what she was to him?’”? 

‘« Everything, everything,’’ said he, laying his face upon the 
table. ‘‘’Lena Rivers was all the world to me. I loved her 
as I shall never love again.” 


LENA RIVERS. 173 


And then, without withholding a thing, Durward told his 
mother all—how he had that very morning gone to Frankfort 
with the intention of offering ’Lena his hand—how he had par- 
tially done so, when they were interrupted by the entrance of a 
visitor, he did not say whom. 

‘¢Thank heaven for your escape. I can bear your father’s 
conduct, if it is the means of saving you from her,’’ exclaimed 
Mrs. Graham, while her son continued: ‘‘ And now, mother, I 
have a request to make of you—a request which you must 
grant. I have loved ’Lena too well to cease from loving her 
so soon. And though I can never again think to make her my 
wife, I wili not hear her name lightly spoken by the world, 
who must never know what we do. Promise me, mother, to 
keep secret whatever you may know against her.’’ 

‘¢ Do you think me bereft of my senses,’’ asked Mrs. Graham, 
netulantly, ‘that I should wish to proclaim my affairs to every 
one?”’ 

‘©No, no, mother,’’ he answered, ‘but you are easily ex- 
cited, and say things you had better not. Mrs. Livingstone 
bears ’Lena no good will, you know, and sometimes when she 
is speaking disparagingly of her, you may be thrown off your 
guard, and tell what you know. SBut this must not be. Prom- 
ise me, mother, will you ?”’ 

Durward was very pale, and the drops of sweat stood thickly 
about his mouth as he asked this of his mother, who, mentally 
congratulating herself upon her son’s escape, promised what he 
asked, at the same time repeating to him all that she heard from 
Mrs. Livingstone concerning ’Lena, until Durward interrupted 
her with, ‘Stop, stop, I’ve heard enough. Nothing which 
Mrs. Livingstone could say would have weighed a straw, but 
the conviction of my own eyes and ears have undeceived me, 
and henceforth ’Lena and I are as strangers.” 

Nothing could please Mrs. Graham better, for the idea of 
her son’s marrying a poor, unknown girl, was dreadful, and 
though she felt indignant toward her husband, so peculiar was 
her nature that she would not have had matters otherwise if 
she could; and when Durward, who disliked scenes, suggested 
the propriety of her not speaking to his father on the subject at 
present, she assented, saying that it would be more easy for 
her to refrain, 1s she was intending to start for Louisville on 
the morrow. 

*<T’ve been contemplating a visit there for some time, and . 
before Mr. Graham left home this morning, I had decided to 


174 LENA RIVERS. 


go,” said she, at the same time proposing that Durward should 
accompany her. 

To this he consented willingly, for in the first shock of his 
disappointment, a change of place and scene was what he most 
desired. The hot blood of the south, which burned in his 
veins, seemed all on fire, and he felt that he could not, for the 
present, at least, be daily associated with his stepfather. An 
absence of several days, he thought, might have the effect of 
calming him down. It was accordingly decided that he should 
on the morrow, start with her for Louisville, to be gone two 
weeks ; and with this understanding they parted, Durward go- 
ing to his own chamber, there to review the past, and strive, if 
possible, to efface from his heart every memory of Lena, whom 
he had loved so well. But ’twas all in vain; he could not so 
soon forget her, and far into the hours of night he sat alone, 
striving to frame some excuse for her conduct. The fact that 
his father possessed her daguerreotype might possibly be ex- 


plained, without throwing censure upon her; but the falsehood ~ a, 


—never ; and with the firm conviction that she was lost to him 
forever, he at last retired to rest, just as the clock in the hall 
below proclaimed the hour of midnight. 

Meantime, Mrs. Graham was pondering in her own mind 
the probable result of a letter which, in the heat of passion, she 
had that day dispatched to ’Lena, accusing her of ‘‘ marring 
the domestic peace of a hitherto happy family,’’ and while she 
cast some reflections upon her birth, commanding her never, 
under any circumstances, ‘‘ to venture into her presence ! ’’ 

This cruel letter had been sent to the office before Durward’s 
return, and as she well knew how much he would disapprove 
of it, she resolved not to tell him, secretly hoping "Lena would 
keep her own counsel. ‘‘ Base creature!’’ said she, ‘‘ to give 
my husband her likeness—but he shall never see it again; ”’ 
and with stealthy step she advanced toward the secret drawer, 
which she again opened, and taking from it both daguerreotype 
and ringlet, locked it, replacing the key in the pocket where 
she found it. Then seizing the long, bright curl, she hurled it 
into the glowing grate, shuddering as she did so, and trem- 
poe as if she really knew a wrong had been done to the 

ead. 

Opening the case, she looked once more upon the hated 
features, which now seemed to regard her mournfully, as if re- 
proaching her for what she had done. No part of the dress 
was visible—nothing except the head and meck, which was was 


LENA RIVERS. 175 


covered, and over which fell the chestnut curls, whose compan- 

ion 30 recently lay seething and scorching on the burning coals. 

There was a footstep without—her husband had returned— 

and quick as thought was the daguerreotype concealed, while 

Mrs. Graham, forcing down her emotion, took up a book, 

which she seemed to be intently reading when her husband en.- 

_ tered. After addressing to her a few commonplace remarks, 

ra all of which she answered civilly, he went to the wardrobe, and 

2 _» on pretense of looking for his knife, which, he said he believed 
te ) he left in his vest pocket, he took out the key, and then care- 
yey proceeded to unlock his private drawer, his wife watch- 

© © ing him the while, and keenly enjoying his look of consterna- 

.) tion when he saw that his treasure was gone. Again and again 
. ./ was his drawer searched, but all to no purpose, and casting an 
aN } anxious glance toward his wife, whose face, for a wonder, be- 
‘>¢ _ \_-trayed no secret, he commenced walking the floor in a very 
' | “Y" perturbed state of mind, his wife exulting in his discomfiture, 
and thinking herself amply avenged for all that she had en- 
_ “ dured. 

ah At last he spoke, telling her of a letter which he had that day 
received from South Carolina, containing the news of the death 
of a distant relative, who had left him some property. ‘It is 

'“S not necessary for me to be there in person,’’ said he, ‘‘ but still 
—  ) I should like to visit my old home once more. What do you 

2 think of it?” 

Lo ‘¢ Go, by all means,”’ said she, giad of anything which would 
ees U place distance between him and ’Lena. ‘‘ No one can attend 
| to your business one-half as well as yourself. When will you 
start if you goP”’ 

‘¢ Immediatel y—before your return from Louisville—unless 


/ 

) you wish to accompany me.’ 

~\ ‘¢T’m afraid I should be an incumbrance, and would rather 
Br not,’’ said she, in a way which puzzled him, causing him ta 


{4 wonder ‘‘ what had come over her.”’ 
| ‘“You can do as you choose,’’ said he, ‘‘but I should be 
glad of your company.’’ 

‘‘No, I thank you,’’ was her laconic reply, as she, in turn, 
wondered what had come over “zm. 

The next morning the carriage came up to the door to con- 
vey Mrs. Graham and Durward to Frankfort. The latter was 
purposely late, and he did not see his father until he came 
down, traveling-bag in hand, to enter the carriage. Then Mr. 
Granam asked, in some surprise, ‘‘ where he was going ?’’ 


176 LENA RIVERS. 

«¢ With my mother to Louisville, sir,’? answered Durward, 
stifiy. ‘‘I am not willing she should travel alone, if you are ;”’ 
and he sprang into the carriage, ordering the coachman to drive 
off ere another word could be spoken. 

‘¢Gone, when I had nerved myself to tell him everything !— 
my usual luck!’’ mused Mr. Graham, as he returned to the 
house, and sure of no prying eyes, recommenced his search for 
the daguerreotype, which was nowhere to be found. Could 
she have found it? Impossible! for it was not in her jealous 
nature to have held her peace; and again he sought for it, but 
all to no purpose, and finally thinking he must have taken it 
with him and lost it, he gave it up, mourning more for the loss 
of the curl, which could never, never be replaced, while the 
picture might be found. 

‘Why do I live so?”’ thought he, as he nervously paced 
the room. ‘‘ My life is one of continual fear and anxiety, but 
it shall be so no longer. I'll tell her all when she returns. Til 
brave the world, dare her displeasure, take Lena home, and 
be a man.”’ 

Satisfied with this resolution, and nothing doubting that he 
should keep it, he started for Versailles, where he had an en- 
gagement with a gentk ‘an who transacted business for him in 
Lexington. 





CHAPTER XXII. 
THE LETTER AND ITS EFFECT. 


Mapex had gone out, and ’Lena sat alone in the little room 
adjoining the parlor which Mr. Douglass termed his library, but 
which Nellie had fitted up for a private sewing-room. It 
was ’Lena’s favorite resort when she wished to be alone, and as 
Mabel was this morning absent, she had retired thither, not to 
work, but to ¢ktwk—to recall every word and look of Dur- 
ward’s, to wonder when and how he would repeat the question, 
the answer to which had been prevented by Mr. Graham. 

Many and blissful were her emotions as she sat there, won- 
dering if it were not a bright dream, from which she would toe 
soon awaken, for could it be that one so noble, so good, and so 
much sought for as Durward Bellmont had chosen her, of all 
others, to be his bride? Yes, it must be so, for he was not one 


& 


LENA RIVERS. LUG 


3 say or act what he did not mean; he would come that day 
and repeat what he had said before; and she blushed as she 
thought what her answer would be. 

There was a knock: on the door, and a servant entered, 
bringing her a letter, which she eagerly seized, thinking it was 
from him. But ’twas not his writing, though bearing the post- 
mark of Versailles. Hastily she broke the seal, and glancing 
at the signature, turned pale, for it was ‘‘ Lucy Graham,”’ his 
mother, who had written, but for what, she could not guess. 
A moment more and she fell back on the sofa, white and rigid 
as a piece of marble. ’*Twas a cruel and insulting letter, con- 
taining many dark insinuations, which she, being wholly inno- 
cent, could not understand. She knew, indeed, that Mr. 
Graham had presented her with Vesta, but was there anything 
wrong in that? She did not think so, else she had never taken 
her. Her uncle, her cousin, and Durward, all three approved 
of her accepting it, the latter coming with it himself—so it could 
not be that; and for a long time ’Lena wept passionately, re- 
solving one moment to answer the letter as it deserved, determin- 
ing, the next, to go herself and see Mrs. Graham face to face: 
and then concluding to treat it with silent contempt, trusting 
that Durward would erelong appear and make it all plain be- 
tween thern. 

At last, about five o’clock, Mabel returned, bringing the in- 
telligence that Mrs. Graham was in the city, at the Weisiger 
House, where she was going to remain until the morrow. She 
had met with an accident, which prevented her arrival in Frank- 
fort until the train which she was desirous of taking had left. 

‘¢Ts her husband with her?’’ asked ’Lena, to which Mabel 
replied, that she understood she was alone. 

‘‘Then I’ll see her and know what she means,’’ thought 
’Lena, trembling, even then, at the idea of venturing j .to the 
presence of the cold, haughty woman. 

* * xe x rk 2 

Supper was over at the Weisiger House, nd in a handsome 
private parlor Mrs. Graham lay, half asleep, upon the sofa, 
while in the dressing-room adjoining Durward sat, trying to 
frame a letter which should tell poor ’Lena that their intimacy 
was forever at anend. For hours, and until the last gleam of 
daylight had faded away, he had sat by the window, watching 
each youthful form which passed up and down the busy street, 
hoping to catch a glimpse of her who once had made his world. 
But his watch was in vain, and now he had sat down to write 


pee ey“ 
a 


\ one 


178 LENA RIVERS. 


throwing aside sheet after sheet, as he thought its beginning tow 
cold, too harsh, or too affectionate. He was about making up 
his mind not to write at all, but to let matters take their course, 
when a knock at his mother’s door, and the announcement that 
a lady wished to see her arrested his attention. 

«‘Somebody want to see me? Just show her up,’’ said Mrs. 
Graham, smoothing down her flaxen hair, and wiping from be. 
tween her eyes a spot of powder which the Opposite mirror 
revealed. 

In a moment the visitor entered—a slight, girlish form, 
whose features were partially hidden from view.by a heavy lace 


¢veil, which was thrown over her satin hood. A single glance 


convinced Mrs. Graham that it was a lady, a wellbred lady, 
who stood before her, and very politely she bade her bé seated. 

Rather haughtily the proffered chair was declined, while the 
veil was thrown aside, disclosing to the astonished gaze of Mrs. 
Graham the face of "Lena Rivers, which was unnaturally pale, 
while her dark eyes grew darker with the intensity of her 
feelings. 

«‘’Lena Rivers! why came you here?’’ she asked, while at 
the mention of that name Durward started to his feet, but 
quickly resumed his seat, listening with indescribable emotions 
to the sound of a voice which made every nerve quiver with 

in. 

<“<You ask me why I am here, madam,’’ said "Lena. ‘I 
came to seek an explanation from you—to know of what I am 
accused—to ask why you wrote me that insulting letter—me, 
an orphan girl, alone and unprotected in the world, and who 
never knowingly harmed you or yours.’’ 

‘*Never harmed me or mine!’’ scornfully repeated Mrs. 
Graham. ‘‘Don’t add falsehood to your other sins—though, 
if you’ll lie to my son, you of course will to me, his mother.”’ 

‘‘ Explain yourself, madam, if you please,”’ exclaimed ’Lena, 
her olden temper beginning to get the advantage of her. 

*‘And what if I do not please?’’ sneeringly asked Mrs. 
Graham. 

*«Then I will compel you to do so, for my good name is all 
I have, and it shall not be wrested from me without an effort on 
my part to preserve it,’’ answered ’Lena. 

‘«¢ Perhaps you expect my husband to stand by you and help 
you. lam sure it would be very ungentlemanly in him to de- 
sert you. now,’ said Mrs. Graham, her manner conveying far 
more meaning than her words. 


LENA RIVERS. 179 


*Lena trembled from head to foot, and her voice was hardly 
distinct as she replied, ‘‘ Will you explain yourself, or will you 
not? What have I done, that you should treat me thus ?”’ 

‘‘Done? Done enough, I should think! MHaven’t you 
whiled him away from me with your artful manners? Has he 
ever been the same man since he saw you? Hasn’t he talked 
of you in his sleep? made you most valuable presents which a 
true woman would have refused? and in return, haven’t you 
bestowed upon him your daguerreotype, together with a lock 
of your hair, on which you no doubt pride yourself, but which 
to me and my son seem like so many coiling serpents ?”’ 

’Lena had sat down. She could stand no longer, and bury- 
ing her face in her hands, she waited until Mrs. Graham had 
finished. Then, lifting up her head, she replied in a voice far 
more husky than the one in which she before had spoken— 
‘© You accuse me wrongfully, Mrs. Graham, for as I hope for 
heaven, I never entertained a feeling for your husband which I 
would not have done for my own father, and indeed, he has 
seemed to me more like a parent than a friend ’’? — 

«‘ Because you fancied he might some day be one, I dare 
say,’’ interrupted Mrs. Graham. 

‘Lena paid no attention to this sarcastic remark, but con- 
tinued: ‘‘I know I accepted Vesta, but I never dreamed it 
was wrong, and if it was, I will make amends by immediately 
returning her, for much as I love her, I shall never use her 
again.’’ 

PP But the daguerreotype?’’ interrupted Mrs. Graham, anx- 
ious to reach that point. ‘‘ What have you to say about the 
daguerreotype? Perhaps you will presume to deny that, too.” 

Durward had arisen, and now in the doorway watched 
’Lena, whose dark brown eyes flashed fire as she answered, ‘¢ It 
is false, madam. You know it is false. I never yet have had 
my picture taken.”’ 

‘¢But he has it in his possession; how do you account for 
that P”’ 

_ Again I repeat, that is false!’’ said ’Lena, while Mis. 

Graham, strengthened by the presence of her son, answered, 
‘‘] can prove it, miss.’’ 

‘<I defy you to do so,’’ said ’Lena, strong in her own inno- 
cence. 

‘‘Shall I show it to her, Duiward?’’ asked Mrs. Graham, 
and ’Lena, turning suddenly round, became for the first time 
conscious of his presence. 


£36 LENA RIVERS. 


With a cry of anguish she stretched her arms imploringly 
toward him, asking him, in piteous tones, to save her from his 
mother. Durward would almost have laid down his life to 
prove her innocent, but he felt that could not be. So he made 
her no reply, and in his eye she read that he, too, was de- 
ceived. With a low, wailing moan she again covered her face 
with her hands, while Mrs. Graham repeated her question, 
s¢ Shall I show it to her? ’’ 

Durward was not aware that she had it in her possession, and 
he answered, ‘‘ Why do you ask, when you know you cannot 
do soP’”’ 

Oh, how joyfully "Lena started up; he did not believe it, 
after all, and if ever a look was expressive of gratitude, that 
was which she gave to Durward, who returned her no answer- 
ing glance, save one of pity; and again that wailing cry smote 
painfully on his ear. ‘Taking the case from her pocket, Mrs. 
Graham advanced toward ’Lena, saying, ‘‘ Here, see for your- 
self, and then deny it if you can.’’ 

But "Lena had no power to take it. Her faculties seemed 
benumbed and Durward, who, with folded arms and clouded 
brow stood leaning against the mantel, construed her hesitation 
into guilt, which dreaded to be convicted. 

«¢ Why don’t you take it?’’ persisted Mrs. Graham. ‘ You 

defied me to prove it, and here it is. I found it in my hus- 
band’s private drawer, together with one of those long curls, 
which last I burned out of my sight.” 
_ Durward shuddered, while ’Lena involuntarily thought of 
the mass of wavy tresses which they had told her clustered 
around her mother’s face, as she lay in her narrow coffin. 
Why thought she of her mother then? Was it because they 
were so strangely alike, that any allusion to her own personal 
appearance always reminded her of her lost parent? Perhaps 
so. But to return to our story ’Lena would have sworn that 
the likeness was not hers, and still an undefined dread crept 
over her, preventing her from moving. 

“‘You seem so unwilling to be convinced, allow me to assist 
you,’’ said Mrs. Graham, at the same time unclasping the case 
and holding to view the picture, on which with wondering 
eyes, ’Lena gazed in astonishment. 

“It zs I—it is; but oh, heaven, how came He by it?’’ she 
gasped, and the next moment she fell fainting at Durward’s feet _ 

In an instant he was bending over her, his mother exclaim 
ing, ‘‘ Pray, don’t touch her—she does it for effect.” 


LENA RIVERS. %) >) “> 8h 


But he knew better. He knew there was no feigning the 
corpse-like pallor of that face, and pushing his mother aside, 
he took the unconscious girl in his arms, and bearing her to 
the sofa, laid her gently upon it, removing her hand and 
smoothing back from her cold brow the thick, clustering curls 
which his mother had designated as ‘coiling serpents.’’ 

‘‘Do not ring and expose her to the idle gaze of servants,”’ 
said he to his mother, who had seized the bell-rope. ‘‘ Bring 
some water from your bedroom, and we will take charge of her 
ourselves.” 

There was something commanding in the tones of his voice, 
and Mrs. Graham, now really alarmed at the deathly appear- 
ance of ’Lena, hastened to obey. When he was alone, Dur- 
ward bent down, imprinting upon the white lips a burning kiss 
—the first he had ever given her. In his heart he believed her 
unworthy of his love, and yet she had never seemed one-half 
so dear to him as at that moment, when she lay there before 
him helpless as an infant, and all unmindful of the caresses 
which he lavished upon her. ‘‘ If it were indeed death,’ he 
thought, ‘‘and it had come upon her while yet she was inno- 
cent, I could have borne it, but now I would I had never seen 
her ;’’ and the tears which fell like rain upon her cheek, were 
not unworthy of the strong man who shed them. The cold 
water with which they profusely bathed her face and neck, re- 
stored her, and then Durward, who could bear the scene no 
longer, glided silently into the next room. 

When he was gone, Mrs. Graham, who seemed bent upon 
tormenting ’Lena, asked ‘‘ what she thought about it now ?”’ 

‘Please don’t speak to me again, for I am very, very 
wretched,’’ said ’Lena, softly, while Mrs. Graham continued : 
«‘ Have you nothing to offer in explanation ?”’ 

_ Nothing, nothing—it is a dark mystery to me, and I wish 
that I was dead,’’ answered ’Lena, sobbing passionately. 

<‘ Better wish to live and repent,’’ said Mrs. Graham, begin- 
ning to read her a long sermon on her duty, to which ’Lena 
paid no attention, and the moment she felt that she could walk, 
she arose to go. 

The moon was shining brightly, and as Mr. Douglass livea 
nor far away, Mrs. Graham did not deem an escort necessary. 
But Durward thought differently. He could not walk with her 
side by side, as he had often done before, but he would follow 
at a distance, to see that no harm came near her. There was 
no danger of his being discovered, for "Lena was too much ab 


183 LENA RIVERS. 


sorbed in her own wretchedness to heed aught about her, and 
in silence he walked behind her until he saw the door of Mr. 
Douglass’s house close upon her. ‘Then feeling that there was 
an inseparable barrier between them, he returned to his hotel, 
where he found his mother exulting over the downfall of one 
whom, for some reason, she had always disliked. 

‘‘Didn’t she look confounded, though, when I showed her 
the picture?’’ said she; to which Durward replied, by asking 
‘¢when and why she sent the letter.”’ | 

‘¢T did it because I was a mind to, and I am not sorry for it, 
either,’’ was Mrs. Graham’s crusty answer; whereupon the 
conversation was dropped, and as if by a tacit agreement, the 
subject was not again resumed during their stay in Louisville. 


It would be impossible to describe ’Lena’s emotion as she re- 
turned to the house. Twice in the hall was she obliged to 
grasp at the banister to keep from falling, and knowing that 
such excessive agitation would be remarked, she seated herself 
upon the stairs until she felt composed enough to enter the par- 
lor. Fortunately, Mabel was alone, and so absorbed in the 
fortunes of ‘Uncle True and little Gerty,” as scarcely to no- 
tice Lena at all. Once, indeed, as she sat before the grate so 
motionless and still, Mabel looked up, and observing how white 
she was, asked what was the matter. 

«¢ A bad headache,’’ answered ’Lena, at the same time an- 
nouncing her intention of retiring. 

Alone in her room, her feelings gave way, and none save 
those who like her have suffered, can conceive of her anguish, 
as prostrate upon the floor she lay, her long silken curls falling 
about her white face, which looked ghastly and haggard by the 
moonlight that fell softly about her, as if to soothe her woe. 

‘6 What is it,”’ she cried, aloud—‘‘ this dark mystery, which 
I cannot explain.’’ 

The next moment she thought of Mr. Graham. He could 
explain it—he must explain it. She would go to him the next 
day, asking him what it meant. She felt sure that he could 
make it plain, for suspicious as matters looked, she exculpated 
him from any wrong intention toward her. Still she could not 
sleep, and when the grey morning light crept in, it found her 
too much exhausted to rise. 

For several days she kept her room, carefully attended by 
Mabel and her grandmother, who, at the first intimation of her 


— 


LL AAA_X 


a 


LENA RIVERS. 1838 


Hiness, hastened down to nurse her. Every day did ’Lena ask 
of Mr. Douglass if Mr. Graham had been in the city, saying 
that the first time he came she wished to see him. Days, how- 
ever, went by, and nothing was seen or heard from him, until 
at last John Jr., who visited her daily, casually informed her 
that Mr. Graham had been unexpectedly called away to South 
Carolina. <A distant relative of his had died, bequeathing him 
a large property, which made it necessary for him to go there 
immediately ; so without waiting for the return of his wife, he 
had started off, leaving Woodlawn alone. 

‘¢Gone to Soutn Carolina!’’ exclaimed ‘Lena. <‘‘When 
will he return ? ”’ 

‘‘ Nobody knows. He’s away from home more than half the 
time, just as 1 should be if Mrs. Graham were my wife,”’ an- 
swered John Jr., at the same time playfully remarking that 
’Lena need not look so blank, as it was not Durward who had 
gone so far. 

For an instant ’Lena resolved to tell him everything and ask 
him what to do, but knowing how impetuous he was when at 
all excited, she finally decided to keep her own secret, determ- 
ining, however, to write to Mr. Graham, as soon as she was 
abic. Just before John Jr. left her, she called him to her side, 
asking him if he would do her the favor of seeing that Vesta 
ba sent back to Woodlawn, as she did not wish for her any 
onger. 

‘¢ What the plague is that for—has mother been raising a 
row?’’ asked John Jr., and ‘Lena replied, ‘*‘No, no, your 
mother has nothing to do with it. JIonly want Vesta taken 
home. I cannot at present tell you why, but I have a good 
reason, and some time, perhaps, I’ll explain. You'll do it, 
won’t you?”’ 

With the determination oi questioning Durward as to what. 
had happened, John Jr. promised, and when Mrs. Graham and 
her son returned from Louisville, they found Vesta safely stabled 
with their other horses, while the saddle with its tiny slipper 
hung upon a beam, and seemingly looked down with reproach 
upon Durward, who turned away with a bitter pang as he 
thought of the morning when he first took it to Mapk 
Grove. 

The next day was dark and rainy, preciuding all out-door 
exercise, and weary, sad, and spiritless, Durward repaired to 
the library, where, for an hour or more, he sat musing dreamily 
of the past—of the morning, years ago, when first he met the litth, 


184 LENA RIVERS. 


girl who had since grown so strongly into his love, and over whom 
so dark a shadow had fallen. A heavy knock at the door, and 
in a moment John Jr. appeared, with dripping garments and a 
slightly scowling face. ‘There was a faint resemblance between 
him and ’Lena, manifest in the soft, curling hair and dark, 
lustrous eyes. Durward had observed it before—he thought of 
it now—and glad to see any one who bore the least resemblance 
to her, he started up, exclaiming, ‘‘ Why, Livingstone, the very 
one of all the world I am glad to see.’ 

John made no reply, but shaking the raindrops from his 
overcoat, which he carelessly threw upon the floor, he took a 
chair opposite the grate, and looking Durward fully in the face, 
said, ‘‘]’ve come over, Bellmont, to ask you a few plain, un- 
varnished questions, which I believe you will answer truthfully. 
Am I right?” 

“‘ Certainly, sir—go on,’’ was Durward’s reply. 

‘‘ Well, then, to begin, are you and ’Lena engaged?” 

‘¢ No, sir.’”” 

“ Have you been engaged ?”’ 

‘«¢ No, sir.” 

‘¢ Do you ever expect to be engaged ?” 

«¢ No, sir.”’ 

«Have you quarreled ? 

«« No, sir.’’ 

‘*Do you know why she wished to have Vesta sent home P”’ 

‘¢T suppose I do.”’ 

‘¢ Will you tell me?” 

‘* No, sir,’’ said Durward, determined, for ’Lena’s sake, that 
no one should wring from him the secret. 

John Jr. arose, jammed both hands into his pockets—walked 
to the window—made faces at the weather—walked back to the 
grate—made faces at that—kicked it—and then turning to 
Durward, said, ‘‘ There’s the old Nick to pay, somewhere.”’ 

Nothing from Durward, who only felt bound to answer direct 
questions. 

‘*T tell you, there’s the old Nick to pay, somewhere,’’ con- 
tinued John, raising his voice. ‘I knew it all the while "Lene 
was sick. I read it in her face when I told her Mr. Grahara 
had gone south ’’— 

A faint sickness gathered around Durward’s heart, and John 
Jr. proceeded: ‘‘She wouldn’t tell me, and I’ve come to you 
for information. Will you give it to me?”’ 

‘*No, sir,’? said Durward. ‘*The nature of our trouble is 


a sls 


LENA RIVERS. 185 


known only to ourselves and one other individual, and I shall 
never divulge the secret.’’ 

‘<Is that other individual my mother ?”’ 

‘¢ No, sir.” | 

“Ts it Cad?” 

s6 No, sir.”’ 

‘¢ Had they any agency in the matter?” 

‘¢ None, whatever, that I know of.’’ 

‘‘ Then I’m on the wrong track, and may as well go home,’’ 
said John Jr., starting for the door, where he stopped, while he 
added, ‘‘If, Bellmont, I ever do hear of your having misled 
me in this matter’’— He did not finish the sentence in words, 
but playfully producing a revolver, he departed. The next 
moment he was dashing across the lawn, the mud flying in 
every direction, and himself thinking how useless it was to try 
to unravel a love quarrel. 

In the meantime, ’Lena waited impatiently for an answer to 
the letter which she had sent to Mr. Graham, but day after day 
glided by, and still no tidings came. At last, as if everything 
had conspired against her, she heard that he was lying danger- 
ously ill of a fever at Havana, whither he had gone in quest of 
an individual whose presence was necessary in the settlement 
of the estate. 

The letter which brought this intelligence to Mrs. Graham, 
also contained a request that she would come to him immedi- 
ately, and within a few days after its receipt, she started for 
Cuba, together with Durward, who went without again seeing 
’Lena. 

They found him better than they expected. The danger was 
past, but he was still too weak to move himself, and the physi- 
cian said it would be many weeks ere he was able to travel. 
This rather pleased Mrs. Graham than otherwise. She was 
fond of change, and had often desired to visit Havana, so now 
that she was there, she made the best of it, and for once in her 
life enacted the part of a faithful, affectionate wife. 

Often, during intervals of mental aberration, Mr. Graham 
spoke of ‘‘ Helena,’’ imploring her forgiveness for his leaving 
her so long, and promising to return. Sometimes he spoke of 
her as being dead, and in piteous accents he would ask of Dur- 
ward to bring him back his ‘‘ beautiful ’Lena,’’ who was sleep- 
ing far away among the New England mountains. 

One day when the servant, as usual, came in with their letters, 
ee breught one directed to Mr. Graham, which had been for 


186 LENA RIVERS. 


watded from Charleston, and which bore the postmarks of 
several places, it having been sent hither and thither, ere it 
reached its place of destination. It was mailed at:Frankfort, 
Kentucky, and in the superscription Durward readily recognized 
the handwriting of ’Lena. 

‘‘ Worse and worse,’’ thought he, now fully assured of her 
worthlessness. 

For a moment he felt tempted to break the seal, but from this 
act he instinctively shrank, thinking that whatever it might con- 
tain, it was not for him to read it. But what should he do 
with it? Must he give it to his mother who already had as 
much as she could bear? No, ’twas not best for her to know 
aught about it, and as the surest means of preventing its doing 
further trouble, he destroyed it—burned it to ashes—repenting 
the next moment of the deed, wishing he had read it, and feel- 
ing not that he had wronged the dead, as his mother did when 
she burned the chestnut curl, but as if he had done a wrong to 
"Lena. 

In the course of two months he went back to Woodlawn, 
leaving his father and mother to travel leisurely from place to 
place, as the still feeble state of the former would admit. ’Lena, 
who had returned from Frankfort, trembied lest he should come 
to Maple Grove, but he seemed equally desirous of avoiding a 
meeting, and after lingering about Woodlawn for several days, 
he suddenly departed for Louisville, where, for a time, we leave 
him, while we follow the fortunes of others connected with our 
story. 





CHAPTER XXIV. 
JOHN JR. AND MABEL, 


Time and absence had gradually softened John Jr.’s feelings 
toward Nellie. She was not married to Mr. Wilbur—possibly 
she never would be—and if on her return to America he found 
her the same, he would lose no time in seeing her, and, if pos- 
sible, secure her to himself. Such was the tenor of his 
thoughts, as on one bright morning in June he took his way to 
Lexington, whither he was going on business for his father. 
Before leaving the city, he rode down to the depot, as was his 
usual custom, reaching there just as the cars bound for Frank- 





rer 


LENA RIVERS. 18 


fort were rolling away. Upon the platform of the rear car 
stood an acquaintance of his, who called out, ‘* Halloo, Liv- 
ingstone, have you heard the news? ’’ 

‘‘News, no. What news?” asked John Jr., following afte: 
the fast moving train. 

‘‘Bob Wilbur and Nellie Douglass are married,’’ screamed 
the young man, who, having really heard of Mr. Wilbur’s mar- 
riage, supposed it must of course be with Nellie. 

John Jr. had no doubt of it, and for a moment his heart 
fainted beneath the sudden blow. But he was not one to yield 
long to despair, and soon recovering from the first shock, he 
raved in uncontrollable fury, denouncing Nellie as worthless, 
fickle, and good for nothing, mentally wishing her much joy 
with her husband, who in the same breath he hoped ‘‘ would 
break his confounded neck,’’ and ending his tirade by solemnly 
vowing to offer himself to the first girl he met, whether black 
or white ! 

Full of this resolution he put spurs to Firelock and sped 
away over the turnpike, looking neither to the right nor the 
left, lest a chance should offer for the fulfilment of his vow. 
It was the dusk of evening when he reached home, and giving 
his horse into the care of a servant, he walked with rapid 
strides into the parlor, starting back as he saw adel Ross, 


_ who, for a few days past, had been visiting at Maple Grove. 


‘‘There’s no backing out,’”’ thought he. ‘It’s my destiny, 
and I’ll meet it likea man. Nellie spited me, and I’ll let her 
know how good it feels.’’ 

*« Mabel,”’ said he, advancing toward her, ‘‘ will you marry 
me? Say yes or no quick.’’ ~ 
This was not quite the kind of wooing which Mabel had ex- 
pected. ’Twas not what she read of in novels, but then it was in 
keeping with the rest of John Jr.’s conduct, and very frankly 

and naturally she answered <‘ Yes.” 

‘‘ Very well,’’ said he, beginning to feel better already, and 
turning to leave the room—‘ Very well, you fix the day, and 
arrange it all yourself, only let it be very soon, for now I’ve 
made up my mind, I’m in a mighty hurry.” 

Mabel laughed, and hardly knowing whether he were in 
earnest or not, asked ‘‘if she should speak to the minister, 
too.”’ 

‘Yes, no,’’ said he. ‘‘ Just tell mother, and she’ll fix it al 
right. Will you?” 

And he walked away, feeling nothing, thinking nothing, ex 


188 LENA RIVERS. 


cept that he was engaged. Engaged! Th ery idea seemed 
to add new dignity to zm, while it invested Mabel with a 
charm she had not hitherto possessed. John Jr. liked every- 
thing that belonged to him exclusively, and Mabel now was his 
~-his wife she would be—and when next he met her in the 
drawing-room, his manner toward her was unusually kind, at- 
tracting the attention of his mother, who wondered at the 
change. One after another the family retired, until there was 
no one left in the parlor except Mabel and Mrs. Livingstone, 
who, as her husband chanced to be absent, had invited her 
young visitor to share her room. When they were alone, 
Mabel, with many blushes and a few tears, told of ail that had 
occurred, except, indeed, of John’s manner of proposing, 
which she thought best not to confide to a third person. 

Eagerly Mrs. Livingstone listened, mentally congratulating 
herself upon the completion of her plan without her further in- 
terference, wondering the while how it had been so suddenly 
brought about, and half trembling lest it should prove a failure 
after all. So when Mabel spoke “of John Jr.’s wish that the 
marriage should be consummated immediately, she replied, 
‘‘ Certainly—by all means. ‘There is no necessity for delay. 
You can marry at once, and get ready afterward. It is now 
the last of June. I had thought of going to Saratoga in July, 
and a bride is just the thing to give eclat to our party.” 

‘««But,’? answered Mabel, who hardly fancied a wedding 
without all the usual preparations, which she felt she should 
enjoy so much, “I cannot think of being married until Oc- 
tober, when Nellie perhaps will be here.’’ ; 

Nellie’s return was what Mrs. Livingstone dreaded, and very 
ingeniously she set herself at work to put aside Mabel’s ob- 
jections, succeeding so far that the young girl promised com- 
pliance with whatever she should think proper. The next 
morning, as John Jr. was passing through the hall, she called 
him into her room, delicately broaching the subject of his en- 
gagement, saying she knew he could not help loving a girl pos- 
sessed of so many excellent qualities as Mabel Ross. Very 
patiently John Jr. heard her until she came to speak of love. 
» ‘Then, in much louder tones than newly engaged men are apt 
to speak.of their betrothed, he exclaimed, ‘‘Love! Fudge! 
If you think I’m marrying Mabel for love, you are greatly mis- 
taken. [ like her, but love is out of the question.” 

«‘ Pray what are you marrying her for? Her property? ”’ 

‘* Property !’’ repeated John, with a sneer, ‘I’ve seen 


LENA RIVERS. 189 


effect of marrying for property, and I trust I’m not despicable 
enough to try it for myself. No, madam, I’m not marrying 
her for snoney—but to spite Nellie Douglass, if you must know 
the reason. I’ve loved her as I shall never again love woman- 
kind, but she cheated me. She’s married to Robert Wilbur, 
and now I’ve too much spirit to have her think J care. If she 
can marry, so can I—she isn’t the only girl in the world—and 
when I heard what she had done, I vowed I'd offer myself to 
the first female I saw. As good or bad luck would have it, 
"twas Mabel, who you know said yes, of course, for I verily be- 
lieve she likes me far better than I deserve. What kind of 
a husband I shall make, the Lord only knows, but I’m in for it. 
My word is passed, and the sooner you get us tied together the 
better, but for heaven’s sake, don’t go to making a great parade. 
Mabel has no particular home. She’s here now, and why not 
let the ceremony take place here. But fix it to suit yourselves, 
only don’t let me hear you talking about it, for fear I’ll get sick 
of the whole thing.”’ 

This was exactly what Mrs. Livingstone desired. She had 
the day before been to Frankfort herself, learning from Mrs, 
Atkins of Mr. Wilbur’s marriage with the English girl. She 
knew her son was deceived, and it was highly necessary 
that he should continue so. She felt sure that neither her 
daughters, Mabel, nor "Lena knew of Mr. Wilbur’s marriage, 
and she resolved they should not. It was summer, and as 
many of their city friends had left Frankfort for places of fash- 
ionable resort, they received but few calls, and by keeping 
them at home until the wedding was over, she trusted that all 
would be safe in that quarter. Durward, too, was fortunately 
absent, so she only had to deal with Mabel and John Jr. The 
first of these she approached very carefully, casually telling her 
of Mr. Wilbur’s marriage, and then hastily adding, ‘‘ But pray 
don’t speak of it to any one, as there are special reasons why it 
should not at present be discussed. Sometime 1 may tell you 
the reason.”’ 

Mabel wondered why so small a matter should be a secret, 
butsMrs. Livingstone had requested her to keep silence and that 
was a sufficient reason why she should doso. ‘The next step 
was to win her consent for the ceremony to take place there, and 
in the course of three weeks, saying that it was her son’s wish. 
But on this point she found more difficulty than she had antici- 
ea for Mabel shrank from being married at the house of Aés 
ather, 


190 LENA RIVERS. 


«Tt didn’t look right,”” said she, ‘‘and she knew Mr. Doug: 
lass would not object to having it there.’’ 

Mrs. Livingstone knew so, too, but there was too much dan- 
ger in such an arrangement, and she replied, ‘‘ Of course not, 
if you request it, but will it be quite proper for you to ask him 
to be at all that trouble when Nellie is gone, and there is no one 
at home to superintend P”’ 

So after a time Mabel was convinced, thinking, though, how 
differently everything was turning out from what she expected. 
Three weeks from that night was fixed upon for the bridal, to 
which but few were to be invited, for Mrs. Livingstone did not 
wish to call forth remark. 

‘«¢ Everything should be done quietly and in order,’’ she said, 
‘and then, when autumn came, she would give a splendid 
party in honor of the bride.” 

Mr. Douglass, when told of the coming event by Mrs. Liv- 
ingstone, who would trust no one else, expressed much surprise, 
saying he greatly preferred that the ceremony should take place 
at his own house. 

<‘Of course,’’ returned the oily-tongued woman, ‘“‘ of course 
you had, but even a small wedding party is a vast amount of 
trouble, and in Nellie’s absence you would be disturbed. 
Were she here I would not say a word, but now I insist upon - 
having it my own way, and indeed, I think my claim upon 
Mabel is the strongest.”’ 

Silenced, but not quite convinced, Mr. Douglass said no 
more, thinking, meanwhile, that if he only cou/? afford it, 
Mabel should have a wedding worthy of her. But he could 
not; he was poor, and hence Mrs. Livingstone’s arguments 
prevailed the more easily. Fortunately for her, John Jr. mani- 
fested no inclination to go out at all. A kind of torpor seemed 
to have settled upon him, and day after day he remained at 
home, sometimes in a deep study in his own room, and some- 
times sitting in the parlor, where his very unlover-like deport- 
ment frequently brought tears to Mabel’s eyes, while Carrie 
loudly denounced him as the most clownish fellow she ever saw. 

“¢T hope you’ll train him, Mabel,’’ said she, ‘for he needs 
it. He ought to have had Nellie Douglass. She’s a match for 
him. Why didn’t you have her, John?” 

With a face dark as night, he angrily requested Carrie ‘‘ to 
mind her own business,’ saying ‘‘he was fully competent to 
take charge of himself, without the interference of either wife 
or sister.” 


LENA RIVERS. 191 


‘¢Oh, what if he should look and talk so to me!”’ thought 
Mabel, shuddering as a dim foreboding of her sad-future came 
over her. 

"Lena who understood John Jr. better than any one else, saw 
that all was not right. She knew how much he had loved Nel- 
lie; she believed he loved her still; and why should he marry 
another? She could noi tell, and as he withheld his confidence 
from her, appearing unusually moody and cross, she dared not 
epproach him. At last, having an idea of what she wanted, 
and willing to give her a chance, he one day, when they were 
alone, abruptly asked her what she thought of his choice. 

<‘If you ask me what I think of Mabel,’’ said she, ‘‘I an- 
swer that I esteem her very highly, and the more I know her 
the better I love her. Still, I never thought she would be your 
wife.”’ 

«¢ Ah—indeed !—never thought she would, hey?’”’ answered 
John, beginning to grow crusty, and elevating his feet to the 
top of the mantel. ‘You see noty what ¢hought did; but 
what is your objection to her ?”’ 

“‘ Nothing, nothing,’’ returned "Lena. ‘‘ Mabel is amiable, 
gentle, and confiding, and will try to be a good wife.”’ 

*¢ What the deuce are you grumbling for, then ?’’ interrupted 
John Jr. ‘‘Do you want me yourself? If you do, just say 
the word, and it shall be done! I’m bound to be married, and 
I’d sooner have you than anybody else. Come, what do you 
say ? > 

"Lena smiled, while she disclaimed any intention toward her 
cousin, who, resuming the position which in his excitement he 
had slightly changed, continued: ‘I have always dealt fairly 
with you, "Lena, and now I tell you truly, I have no particular 
love for Mabel, aithough I intend making her my wife, and 
heartily wish she was so now.’ 

"Lena started, and clasping John’s arm, exclaimed, ‘ Marry 
Mabe! and not love her ! You cannot be inearnest. You will 
not do her so great a wrong—you shall not.”’ 

*‘T don’t know how you’ ll help it, unless you meddle with 
what does not concern you,’’ said John. “TI am doing her no 
wrong. I never told her I loved her—never acted as though I 
did ; and if she is content to have me on such terms, it’s no- 
body’ s business. She loves me half to death, and if the old 
adage be true that love begets love, I shall learn to love her, 
and when I do I'll let you know.” 

So saying, the young man shook down his pants, which had 


192 LENA RIVERS. 


become disarranged, and walked away, leaving "Lena to won. 
der what course she had better pursue. Once she resolved on 
telling Mabel all that had passed between them, but the next 
moment convinced her that, as he had said, she would be med- 
dling, so she decided to say nothing, silently hoping that affairs 
would turn out better than she feared. 

It was Mabel’s wish that ’Lena and Anna should be her 
bridesmaids, Durward and Malcolm officiating as groomsmen, 
and as Mr. Bellmont was away, she wrote to him requesting his 
attendance, but saying she had not yet mentioned the subject 
. to ’Lena. Painful as was the task of being thus associated 
with ’Lena, Durward felt that to refuse might occasion much 
remark, so he wrote to Mabel that ‘‘ he would comply with her 
request, provided Miss Rivers were willing.’’ 

‘* Of course she’s willing,’’ said Mabel to hersel.”, at the sam 
time running with the letter to "Lena, who, to her utter aston- © 
ishment, not only refused outright, but also dec’ined giving any 
particular reason for her doing so. ‘‘ Carrie will suit him much 
better than I,’’ said she, but unfortunately, Carrie, who chanced 
to be present, half hidden in the recess of a window, indig- 
nantly declined ‘‘ going Jack-at-a-pinch’’ with any one, so Ma- 
bel was obliged to content herself with Anna and Mr. Everett. 

But here a new difficulty arose, for Mrs. Livingstone declared 
that the latter should not be invited, and Anna, in a fit of anger, 
insisted that if e were not good enough to be present, neither 
was she, and she should accordingly remain in her own room. 
Poor Mabel burst into tears, and when, a few moments after- 
ward, John Jr. appeared, asking what ailed her, she hid her 
face in his bosom and sobbed like a child. ‘Then, frightened 
at her own temerity, for he gave her no answering caress, sh 
lifted up her head, while with a quizzical expression John Ji 
said, ‘‘So-ho, Meb, seems to me you’ve taken to crying on my 
jacket a little in advance. But what’s the matter ?’’ 

in a tew words Mabel told him how everything went wrong, 
now neither Lena, Carrie, nor Anna would be her bridesmaids, 
and how Anna wouldn’t see her married because Malcolm was 
not invited. * 

‘I can manage that,’’ said John Jr. ‘‘ Mr. Everett sha// be 
invited, so just shut up erying, for if there’s anything I detest, 
it’s a woman’s sniveling ;’’ and he walked off thinking he had 
begun just >< he meant to hold out. 


\ 


LENA RIVERS. 197 


CHAPTER XXV. 
THE BRIDAL. 


*Twas Mabel’s wedding night, and in one of the upper rooms 
of Mr. Livingstone’s house she stood awaiting the summons to 
the parlor. ‘They had arrayed her for the bridal ; Mrs. Living- 
stone, Carrie, ’Lena, Anna, and the seamstress, all had had 
something to do with her toilet, and now they had left her for 
a time with him who was so soon to be her husband. She 
knew—for they had told her—she was looking uncommonly 
well. Her dress, of pure white satin, was singularly becoming ; 
pearls were interwoven in the heavy braids of her raven hair; 
the fleecy folds of the rich veil, which fell like a cloud around 
her, swept the floor. In her eye there was an unusual sparkle 
and on her cheek an unwonted bloom. 

Still Mabel was not happy. There was a heavy pain at her 
heart—a foreboding of coming evil—and many an anxious 
glance she cast toward the stern, silent man, who, with careless 
tread, walked up and down the room, utterly regardless of her 
presence, and apparently absorbed in bitter reflections. Once 
only had she ventured to speak, and then, in childlike aise 
ity, she had asked him ‘« how she looked.”’ 

<‘ Well enough,”’ was his answer, as, without raising his eyes, 
he continued his walk. 

The tears gathered in Mabel’s eyes—she could not help it; 
drop after drop they came, falling upon the marble table, until 
John Jr., who saw more than he pretended, came to her side, 
asking ‘‘ why she wept.’’ 

Mabel was beginning to be terribly afraid of him, and for a 
moment she hesitated, but at length, summoning all her cour- 
age, she wound her arms about his neck, and in low, earnest 
tones said, ‘‘ Tell me truly, do you wish to marry me?’’ 

‘¢And suppose I do not?’ he asked, with the same stony 
composure. 

Stepping backward, Mabel stood proudly erect before him, 
and answered, ‘‘ Then would I die rather than wed you!” 

There was something in her appearance and attitude pecul- 
larly attractive to John Jr. Never in his life had he felt so 


194 LENA RIVERS. 


much interested in her, and drawing her toward him and plac- 
ing his arm around her, he said, gently, ‘‘ Be calm, little Meb, 
you are nervous to-night. Of .ourse I wish you to be my wife, 
else I had not asked you. Are you satisfied ?’’ 

The joyous glance of the dark eyes lifted so confidingly to 
his, was a sufficient answer, and as if conscious of the injustice 
he was about to do her, John Jr. bent for an instant over her 
slight figure, mentally resolving, that so far as in him lay he 
would be true to his trust. There was a knock at the door, and 
Mrs. Livingstone herself looked in, pale, anxious, and expect 
ant. Mr. Douglass, who was among the invited guests, had 
arrived, and mus¢ have an interview with John Jr. ere the cere- 
mony. ’Twas in vain she attempted politely to waive his 
request. He would see him, and distracted with fear, she had 
at last conducted him into the upper hall, and out upon an open 
veranda, where in the moonlight he awaited the coming of the 
bridegroom, who, with some curiosity, approached him, asking 
what he wanted. 

‘‘It may seem strange to you,’’ said Mr. Douglass, ‘that I 
insist upon seeing you now, when another time might do as 
well, but I believe in having a fair understanding all round.” 

‘‘ Meddling old rascal !’’ exclaimed Mrs. Livingstone, who, 
of course, was within hearing, bending her ears so as not to lose 
a word. 

But in this she was thwarted, for drawing nearer to John Jr., 
Mr. Douglass said, so low as to prevent her catching anything 
further, save the sound of his voice: 

‘‘I do not accuse you of being at all mercenary, but such 
things have been, and there has something come to my knowl- 
edge to-day, which I deem it my duty to tell you, so that here- 
after you can neither blame me nor Mabel.’”’ 

‘<What is it?’’ asked John Jr., and Mr. Douglass replied, 
‘‘To be brief, then, Mabel’s large fortune is, with the excep- 
tion of a few thousands, of which I have charge, all swept away 
by the recent failure of the Planters’ Bank, in which it was in- 
vested... I heard of it this morning, and determined on telling 
you, knowing that if you ‘oved her for herself, it would make 
no difference, while if you loved her for her money, it were far 
better to stop here.’’ 

Nothing could have been further from John’s thoughts than 
a desire for Mabel’s wealth, which, precious as it seemed in his 
mother’s eyes, was valueless to him, and after a moment’s st 
lence, in which he was thinking what a rich disappointment it 


LENA RIVERS. 195 


would be to his mother, who, he knew, prized Mabel only for 
her money, he exclaimed, ‘‘Good, ’m glad of it. I never 
sought Mabel’s hand for what there was in it, and I’m more 
ready to marry her now than ever. But,’’ he added, as a sud- 
den impulse of good came over him, ‘she need not know it; 
it would trouble her uselessly, and for the present we’ll keep it 
from her.”’ 

John Jr. had always been a puzzle to Mr. Douglass, who by 
turns censured and admired him, but now there was but one 
feeling in his bosom toward him, and that was one of un- 
bounded respect. With a warm pressure of the hand he turned 
away, thinking, perchance, of his fair young daughter, who, 
far away o’er the Atlantic waves, little dreamed of the scene 
on which that summer moon was shining. As the conference 


‘ended, Mrs. Livingstone, who had learned nothing, glided 


from her hiding-place, eagerly scanning her son’s face to see if 
there was aught to justify her fears. But there was nothing, 
and with her heart beating at its accustomed pace, She de- 
scended the stairs in time to meet Durward, who, having 
reached Woodlawn that day, had not heard of ’Lena’s decision. 

‘‘This way, Marster Bellmont—upstars is the gentleman’s 
room,’’ said the servant in attendance, and ascending the stairs, 
Durward met with Anna, asking her for her cousin. 

‘‘In there—go in,”’ said Anna, pointing to a half open door, 
and then hurrying away to meet Malcolm, whose coming she 
had seen from the window. 

Hesitatingly, Durward approached the chamber indicated, 
and as his knock met with no response, he ventured at last to 
enter unannounced into the presence of ’Lena, whom he had 
not met since that well-remembered night. ‘Tastefully attired 
for the wedding in a simple white muslin, she sat upon a little 
stool with her face buried in the cushions of the sofa. She had 
heard his voice in the lower hall, and knowing she must soon 
meet him, she had for a moment abandoned herself to the tu- 
mult of bitter thoughts, which came sweeping over her in that 
trying hour. She was weeping—he knew that by the trembling 
of her body—and for an instant everything was forgotten. 

Advancing softly toward her, he was about to lay his hand 
upon those clustering curls which fell unheeded around her, ; 
when the thought that from among them had been cut the 
hated tress which his mother had cast into the flames, arrested 
his hand, and he was himself again. Forcing down his emo- 
tion, he said, calmly, ‘‘ Miss Rivers,” and starting quickly to 


196 LENA RIVERS. 


her feet, "Lena demanded proudly what he would have, and 
why he was there. 

‘¢ Pardon me,”’ said he, as he marked her haughty bearing 
and glanced at her dress, which was hardly in accordance with 
‘that of a bridesmaid ; ‘‘I supposed I was to be groomsman—- 
am I mistaken ?”’ 

<‘So far as Jam concerned you are, sir. I knew nothing of 
Mabel’s writing to you, or I should have prevented it, for after 
what has occurred, you cannot deem me weak enough to lend 
myself to such an arrangement.” : 

And ’Lena walked out of the room, while Durward looked 
after her in amazement, one moment admiring her spirit, and 
the next blaming Mabel for not informing him how matters 
stood. ‘‘ But there’s no help for it now,’’ thought he, as he 
descended the stairs and made his way into the parlor, whither 
*Lena had preceded him. 

And thus ended an interview of which "Lena had thought 
so much, hoping and praying that it might result in a recon- 
ciliation. But it was all over now—the breach was wider than 
ever—with half-benumbed faculties she leaned on the window, 
unconscious of the earnest desire he felt to approach her, for 
there was about her a strange fascination which it required all 
his power to resist. 

When at last all was in readiness, a messenger was dispatched 
to John Jr., who, without a word, offered his arm to Mabel, 
and descending the broad staircase, they stood within the par- 
lor in the spot which had been assigned them. Once during 
the ceremony he raised his eyes, encountering those of ’Lena, 
fixed upon him so reproachfully that with a scowl he turned 
away. Mechanically he went through with his part of the 
service, betraying no emotion whatever, until the solemn words 
which made them one were uttered. ‘Then, when it was over 
—when he was bound to her forever—he seemed suddenly to 
awake from his apathy and think of what he had done. 
Crowding around him, they came with words of congratula- 
tion—all but ’Lena, who tarried behind, for she had none to 
give. Wretched as she was herself, she pitied the frail young 
bride, whose half-joyous, half-timid glances toward the frigid 
bridegroom, showed that already was she sipping from the’ 
bitter cup whose very dregs she was destined to drain. 

In the recess of a window near to John Jr., Mr. Douglass 
and Durward stood, speaking together of Nellie, and though 
John shrank from the sound of her name, his hearing. faculties 


ins ship 


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Vv 
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LENA RIVERS. 197 


seemed unusually sharpened, and he lost not a word of what 
they were saying. 

“So Nellie is coming home in the autumn, I am told,” said 
Durward, ‘‘and I am glad of it, for I miss her much. But 
what is it about Mr. Wilbur’s marriage. Wasn’t it rather un- 
expected ?”’ 

‘“No, not very. Nellie knew before she went that he was 
engaged to Miss Allen, but at his sister’s request she kept it 
still. He found her at a boarding-school in Montreal, several 
years ago.”’ 

«¢ Will they remain in Europe? ”’ 

‘‘ For a time, at least, until Mary is better—but Nellie comes 
home with some friends from New Haven, whom she met in 
Paris ;’’ then in a low tone Mr. Douglass added, ‘‘I almost 
dread the effect of this marriage upon her, for Tam positive 
she liked him better than any one else.”’ 

The little white, blue-veined hand which fetal on that of 
John Jr., was suddenly pressed so spasmodically, that Mabel 
looked up inquiringly in the face which had no thought for her, 
for Mr. Douglass’s words had fallen upon him like a thunder- 
bolt, crushing him to the earth, and for a moment rendering 
him powerless. Instantly he comprehended it all. He had 
deceived himself, and by his impetuous haste lost all that he 
held most dear on earth. There was a cry of faintness, a 
grasping at empty space to keep from falling, and then forth 
into the open air they led the half-fainting man, followed by 
his frightened bride, who tenderly bathed his damp, cold brow, 
unmindful how he shrank from her, shuddering as he felt the 
touch of her soft hand, and motioning her aside when she 
stooped to part from his forehead the heavy locks of his hair. 

That night, the pale starlight of another hemisphere kept 
watch over a gentle girl, who ’neath the blue skies of sunny 
France, dreamed of her distant home across the ocean wave ; 
oi the grey-haired man, who, with every morning light and 
evening shade, blessed her as his child; of another, whose 
image was ever present with her, whom from her childhood she 
had loved, and whom neither time nor distance could efface 
from her memory. 

Later, and the silvery moon looked mournfully down upon 
the white, haggard face and heavy bloodshot eye of him who 
counted each long, dreary hour as it passed by, cursing the 
fate which had made him what he was, and unjustly f ‘rdening 

s heart against his innocent unsuspecting wife. 


lof LENA RIVERS. 


CHAPTER XXVL_ 
MARRIED LIFE. 


For a short time after their marriage, John Jr. treated Mabey 
with at least a show of attention, but he was not one to act long 
as he did not feel. Had Nellie been, indeed, the wife of an- 
other, he might in time have learned to love Mabel as she de- 
served, but now her presence. only served to remind him of 
what he had lost, and at last he began to shun her society, 
never seeming willing to be left with her alone, and either re- 
pulsing or treating with indifference the many little acts of 
kindness which her affectionate nature prompted. To all this 
Mabel was not blind, and when once she began to suspect her 
true position, it was easy for her to fancy slights where none 
were intended. 

‘Thus, ere she had been two months a wife, her life was one 
of constant unhappiness, and, as a matter of course, her health, 
which had been much improved, began to fail. Her old rack- 
ing headaches returned with renewed force, confining her for 
whole days to her room, where she lay listening in vain for the 
footsteps which never came, and tended only by ’Lena, who in 
proportion as the others neglected her, clung to her more and 
more. The trip to Saratoga was given up, John Jr. in the bit- 
terness of his disappointment bitterly refusing to go, and say- 
ing there was nothing sillier than for a newly-married couple to 


“go riding around the country, disgusting sensible people with 


their fooleries. So with a burst of tears Mabel yielded, and 
her bridal tour extended no further than Frankfort, whither her 
husband dd once accompany her, dining out even then with 
an old schoolmate whom he chanced to meet, and almost for- 
getting to call at Mr. Douglass’s for Mabel when it was time to 
seturn home. 

Erelong, too, another source of trouble arose, which ship- 
wrecked entirely the poor bride’s happiness. By some means 
or Other it at last came to Mrs. Livingstone’s knowledge that 
Mabel’s fortune was not only all gone, but that her son had 
known it in time to prevent his marrying her. Owing to vari- 
ous losses her own property had for a few years past been grad- 
yally diminishing, and when she found that Mabel’s fortune, 


nd 


LENA RIVERS. 199 


which she leaned upon as an all-powerful prop, was swept 
away, it was more than she could bear peaceably ; and in a fit 
of disappointed rage she assailed her son, reproaching him with 
bringing disgrace upon the family by marrying a poor, homely, 
sickly girl, who would be forever incurring expense without any 
means of paying it! For once, however, she found her match, 


‘for in good round terms John Jr. bade her ‘go to thunder,” 


his favorite point of destination for his particular friends, at the 
same time saying, ‘‘ he didn’t care a dime for Mabel’s money. 
It was you,”’ said he, ‘‘who kept your eye on that, aiding ané 
abetting the match, and now that you are disappointed, I’m 
heartily glad of it.”’ 

‘*But who is going to pay for her board,’’ asked Mrs. Liv- 
ingstone. <‘‘ You've no means of earning it, and I hope yow 
don’t intend to sponge out of me, for I think I’ve enough pau- 
pers on my hands already !”’ 

‘* Board /”’ roared John Jr. in a towering passion. ‘‘ While 
you thought her rich, you gave no heed to board or anything 
else ; and since she has become poor, I do not think her appe- 
tite greatly increased. You taunt me, too. with having ne 
means of earning my own living. Whose fault is it ?—tell me 
that. Haven’t you always opposed my having a profession? 
Didn’t you fet and daby ‘Johnny’ when a boy, keeping him 
always at your apron strings, and now that he’s a man, he’s 
not to be turned adrift. No, madam, I shall stay, and Mabel, 
too, just as long as I please.”’ 

Gaining no satisfaction from him, Mrs. Livingstone turned 
her battery upon poor Mabel, treating her with shameful neg- 
lect, intimating that she was in the way; that the house was 
full, and that she never supposed John was going to settle down 
at home for her to support; he was big enough to look after 
himself, and if he chose to marry a wife who had nothing, 
why let them go to work, as other folks did. 

Mabel listened in perfect amazement, never dreaming what 
was meant, for John Jr. had carefully kept from her a knowl- 
edge of her loss, requesting his mother to do the same in such 
decided terms, that, hint as strongly as she pleased, she dared 
not tell the whole, for fear of the storm which was sure to fol- 
low. All this was not, of course, calculated to add to Mabel’s 
comfort, and day by day she grew more and more unhappy, 
generously keeping to herself, however, the treatment which she 
received from Mrs. Livingstone. 

“He will only dislike me the more if I complain to him of 


900 LENA RIVERS. 


his: mother,”’ thought she, so the secret was kept, though she 
could not always repress the tears which would start when she 
thought how wretched she was. 

We believe we have said elsewhere, that if there was any- 
thing particularly annoying to John Jr., it was a sick or crying 
woman, and now, when he so often found Mabel indisposed or 
weeping, he grew more morose and fault-finding, sometimes 
wantonly accusing her of trying to provoke him, when, in fact, 
she had used every means in her power to conciliate him. 
Again, conscience-smitten, he would lay her aching head upon 
his bosom, and tenderly bathing her throbbing temples, would 
soothe her into a quiet sleep, from which she always awoke re- 
freshed, and in her heart forgiving him for all he had made her 
suffer. At such times, John would resolve never again to treat 
her unkindly, but alas! his resolutions were too easily broken. 
Had he married Nellie, a more faithful, affectionate husband 
there could not have been. But now it was different.. A 
withering blight had fallen upon his earthly prospects, and for- 
getting that he alone was to blame, he unjustly laid the fault 
upon his innocent wife, who, as far as she was able, loved him 
as deeply as Nellie herself could have done. 

One morning about the first of September, John Jr. received. 
a note, informing him that several of his young associates were 
going on a three days’ hunting excursion, in which they wished 
him to join. In the large easy-chair, just before him, sat 
Mabel, her head supported by pillows and saturated with cam- 
phor, while around her eyes were the dark rings which usually 
accompanied her headaches. Involuntarily John Jr. glanced 
toward her. Had it been Nellie, all the pleasures of the world 
could not have induced him to leave her, but Mabel was alto- 
gether another person, and more for the sake of seeing what 
she would say, than from any real intention of going, he read 
the note aloud; then carelessly throwing it aside, he said, 
‘¢Ah, yes, ’ll go. It'll be rare fun camping out these moon- 
light nights.’’ 

Much as she feared him, Mabel could not bear to have him 
out of her sight, and now, at the first intimation of his leaving 
her, her lip began to tremble, while tears filled her eyes and 
dropped upon her cheeks. This was enough, and mentally 
styling her ‘‘a perfect cry-baby,’’ he resolved to go at all 
hazards. 

“‘T don’t think you ought to leave Mabel, she ‘eels s@ 
badly,’’ said Anna, who was present. 


LENA RIVERS. 201 


‘¢T want to know if little Anna’s got so she can dictate me, 
too,’’ answered John, imitating her voice, and adding, that 
‘*he reckoned Mabel would get over her bad feelings quite as 
well without him as with him.’’ 

More for the sake of opposition than because she really 
cared, Carrie, too, chimed in, saying that ‘‘he was a pretty 
specimen of a three months’ husband,’ and asking ‘‘ how he 
ever expected to answer for all of Mabel’s tears and headaches.”’ 

‘‘ Hang her tears and headaches,’’ said he, beginning to 
grow angry. ‘She can get one up to order any time, and for 
my part, 1 am getting heartily tired of the sound of aches and 
pains.’ 

‘¢ Please don’t talk so,’’ said Mabel, pressing her hands upon 


_ her aching head, while ’Lena sternly exclaimed, ‘‘Shame on 


you, John Livingstone. I am surprised at you, for I did sup- 
pose you had some little feeling left.’’ 

‘¢ Miss Rivers can be very eloquent when she chooses, but 
I am happy to say it is entirely lost on me,’’ said John, leaving 
the room and shutting the door with a bang, which made every 
one of Mabel’s nerves quiver anew. 

<‘ What a perfect brute,”’ said Carrie, while "Lena and Anna 
drew nearer to Mabel, the one telling her ‘‘she would not 
care,’’ and the other silently pressing the little hand which in- 
stinctively sought hers, as if sure of finding sympathy. 

At this moment Mrs. Livingstone came in, and immediately 
carrie gave a detailed account of her brother’s conduct, at the 
same time referring her mother for proof to Mabei’s red eyes 
and swollen face. 

“IT never interfere b iween husband and wife,’ said Mrs. 
Livingstone, coolly, ‘‘ but as a friend, I will give Mabel a bit of 
advice. Without being at all personal, I would say that few 
women have beauty enough to afford to impair it by eternally 
‘crying, while fewer men have patience enough to bear with a 
woman who is forever whining and complaining, first of this 
and then of that. I don’t suppose that John is so much worse 
than other people, and I think he bears up wonderfully, con- 
sidering his disappointment.’’ 

Here the lady flounced out of the room, leaving the girls to 
stare at each other in silence, wondering what she meant. 
Since her marriage, Mabel had occupied the parlor chamber, 
which connected with a cozy little bedroom and dressing-room 
adjoining. ‘These had at the time been fitted up and furnished 
in a style which Mrs. Livingstone thought worthy of Mabel’s 


203 LENA RIVERS. 


wealth, but now that she was poor, the case was altered, and 
she had long contemplated removing her to more inferior 
quarters. ‘‘She wasn’t going to give her the very best room 
in the house. No, indeed, she wasn’t—wearing out the car- 
pets, soiling the furniture, and keeping everything topsy-turvy.’’ 

She understood John Jr. well enough to know that it would 
not do to approdch him on the subject, so she waited, deter- 
mining to carry out her plans the very first time he should be 
absent, thinking when it was once done, he would submit 
quietly. On hearing that he had gone off on a hunting excur- 
sion, she thought, ‘‘ Now is my time,’’ and summoning to her 
assistance three or four servants, she removed everything be- 
longing to John Jr. and Mabel, to the small and not remark- 
ably convenient room which the former had occupied previous 
to his marriage. 

‘‘What are you about? ’’ asked Anna, who chanced to pass 
by and looked in. 

‘¢ About my business,’’ answered Mrs. Livingstone. ‘I’m 
oot going to have my best things all worn out, and if this was 
once good enough for John to sleep in, it is now.”’ 

<¢ But will Mabel like it?’’ asked Anna, a little suspicious 
that her sister-in-law’s rights were being infringed. 

‘‘ Nobody cares whether she is pleased or not,’’ said Mrs. 
Livingstone. ‘‘If she don’t like it, all she has to do is to go 
away.”’ 

‘¢Lasted jest about as long as I thought ’twood,”’ said Aunt 
Milly, when she heard what was going on. ‘Ile and crab- 
apple vinegar won’t mix, nohow, and if before the year’s up 
old miss don’t worry the life out of that poor little sickly crit- 
ter, that looks now like a picked chicken, my name ain’t Milly 
Livingstone.’’ 

The other negroes agreed with her. Constantly associated 
with the family, they saw things as they were, and while Mrs. 
Livingstone’s conduct was universally condemned, Mabel was 
_a general favorite, After Mrs. Livingstone had left the room, 
. Milly, with one or two others, stole up to reconnoitre. 

‘‘Now I ’clar’ for’t,’’ said Milly, ‘‘if here ain’t Marster 
John’s bootjack, fish-line, and box of tobacky, right out in far 
sight, and Miss Mabel comin’ in here to sleep. ’Pears like 
some white folks hain’t no idee of what longs to good man- 
ners. Here, Corind, put the jack in thar, the fish-line thar, 
the backy thar, and heave that ar other thrash out o’door,”’ 
pointing to some geological specimens which from time to time 


LENA RIVERS. 203 


John Jr. had gathered, and which his mother had not thought 
proper to molest. 

Corinda obeyed and then Aunt Milly, who really possessed 
good taste, began to make some alterations in the arrangement 
of the furniture, and under her supervision the room began to 
present a more cheerful and inviting aspect. 

‘¢Get out with yer old airthen candlestick,”’ said she, turn- 
ing up her broad nose at the said article, which stood upon the 
stand. <‘‘What’s them tall frosted ones in the parlor chamber 
for, if ’tain’t to use. Go, Corind, and fetch ’em.’’ 

But Corinda did not dare, and Aunt Milly went herself, tak- 
ing the precaution to bring them in the Zongs, so that in the 
dénouement she could stoutly deny having even ‘‘tached ’em, 
or even had ’em in her hands!’’ (So much for a subterfuge, 
where there is no moral training.) 

When Mabel heard of the change, she seemed for a moment 
stupefied. Had she been consulted, had Mrs. Livingstone 
frankly stated her reasons for wishing her to take another room, 
she would have consented willingly, but to be thus summarily 
removed without a shadow of warning, hardly came up to her 
ideas of justice. Still, there was no help for it, and that night 
the bride of three months watered her lone pillow with tears, 
never once closing her heavy eyelids in sleep until the dim 
morning light came in through the open window, and the tread 
of the negroes’ feet was heard in the yard below. Then, for 
many hours, the weary girl slumbered on, unconscious of the 
ill-natured remarks which her non-appearance was eliciting 
from Mrs. Livingstone, who said ‘‘it was strange what airs 
some people would put on; perhaps Mistress Mabel fancied her 
breakfast would be sent to her room, or kept warm for her until 
such time as she chose to appear, but she’d find herself mis- 
taken, for the servants had enough to do without waiting upon 
her, and if she couldn’t come up to breakfast, why, she must 
wait until dinner time.’’ 

"Lena and Milly, however, thought differently. Softly had 
the former stolen up to her cousin’s room, gazing pityingly upon 
the pale, worn face, whose grieved, mournful expression told of 
sorrow which had come all too soon. 

‘‘Let her sleep; it will do her good,’’ said ’Lena, adjusting 
the bedclothes, and dropping the curtain so that the sunlight 
should not disturb her, she left the chamber. 

An hour after, on entering the kitchen, she found Aunt Milly 
preparing a rich cream toast, which, with a cup of fragrant 


204 LENA RIVERS. 


black tea, were to be slyly conveyed to Mabel, who was now 
awake. 

‘‘Reckon thar don’t nobody starve as long as this nigger 
rules the roost,’’ said Milly, wiping one of the silver teaspoons 
with a corner of her apron, and then placing it in the cup des- 
tined for Mabel, who, not having seen her breakfast prepared, 
relished it highly, thinking the world was not, after all, so dark 
and dreary, for there were yet a few left who cared for her. 

Her headache of the day before still remained, and ’Lena 
suggested that she should stay in her room, saying that she 
would herself see that every necessary attention was paid her. 
This she could the more readily do, as Mrs. Livingstone had 
gone to Versailles with her husband. ‘That afternoon, as Mabel 
lay watching the drifting clouds as they passed and repassed 
before the window, her ear suddenly caught the sound of horses’ 
feet. Nearer and nearer they came, until with a cry of delight 
she hid her face in the pillows, weeping for very joy—for John 
Jr. had come home! She could not be mistaken, and if there 
was any lingering doubt, it was soon lost in certainty, for she 
heard his voice in the hall below, his footsteps on the stairs. 
He was coming, an unusual thing, to see her first. 

But how did he know she was there, in his old room? He 
did not know it; he was only coming to put his rifle in its ac- 
customed place, and on seeing the chamber filled with the va- 
rious paraphernalia of a woman’s toilet, he started, with the 
exclamation, ‘‘ What the deuce! I reckon I’ve got into the 
wrong pew,”’ and was going away, when Mabel called him back. 
‘« Meb, you here?’’ said he. ‘‘ You in this little tucked-up hole, 
that I always thought too small for me and my traps! What 
does it mean?” 

Mabei had carefully studied the tones of her husband’s 
voice, and knowing from the one he now assumed that he was 
not displeased with her, the sense of injustice done her by his 
mother burst out, and throwing her arms around his neck, she 
told him everything connected with her removal, asking what 
his mother meant by saying, ‘‘she should never get anything 
for their board,’’ and begging him ‘‘to take her away where 
they could live alone and be happv.”’ 

Since he had left her, John Jr. had shough? a great deal, the 
result of which was, that he determined on returning home 
much sooner than he at first intended, promising himself to 
treat Mabel decently, and if possible win back the respect 
of "Lena, which he knew he had lost. To his companions, 


ZENA RIVERS. 205 


who urged him to remain, he replied that ‘‘ he had left his wife 
sick, and ke could not stay longer.”’ 

It cost him a great effort to say ‘‘ my wife,’’ for never before 
had he so called her, but he felt better the moment he had: 
done so, and bidding his young friends adieu, he started for 
home with the same impetuous speed which usually characterized 
his riding. He had fully expected to meet Mabel in the parlor, 
and was even revolving in his own mind the prospect of kissing 
her, provided ’Lena were present. ‘‘That’ll prove to her,’’ 
thought he, ‘‘that I am not the hardened wretch she thinks I 
am; so I’ll do it, if Meb doesn’t happen to be all bound up in 
camphor aad aromatic vinegar, which I can’t endure, any- 
way.”’ 

Full of this resolution he had hastened home, going first to 
his old room, where he had come so unexpectedly upon Manel 
that for a moment he scarcely knew what to say. By the time, 
however, that she had finished her story, his mind was pretty 

well made up. 

“And so it’s mother’s doings, hey?”’ said he, violently 
pulling the bell-rope, and then walking up and down the room 
until Corinda appeared in answer to his summons. 

« How many blacks are there in the kitchen ?’”’ he asked, 

‘¢Six or seven, besides Aunt Polly,’’ answered Corinda. | 

sets well. Teli every man of them to come up here, 
quick.’’ 

Full of wonder Corinda departed, carrying the intelligence, 
and adding that ‘‘Marster John looked mighty black in the 
face, and she reckoned some on ’em would catch it, at the 
same time, for fear of what might happen, secretly conveying 
wack to the safe the piece of cake which, in her mistress’ ab- 
sence, she had stolen! Aunt Milly’s first thought was of the 
frosted candlesticks, and by way of impressing upon Co- 
rinda a sense of what she might expect if in any way she ime 
plicated her, she gave her a cuff in advance, bidding her ‘‘ be 
keerful how she blabbed ’’ ; then heading the sable group, she 
repaired to the chamber, where John Jr. was awaiting them. 

Advancing toward them, as they appeared in the doorway, 
he said, ‘‘ Take hold here, every one of you, and move these 
things back where they came from.” 

‘‘Don’t, oh don’t,’’ entreated Mabel, but laying his hand 
over her mouth, John Jr. bade her keep still, at the same time 
ordering the negroes ‘‘ to be quick.” 

At first the younger portion of the blacks stood speeolaless, 


206 LENA RIVERS, 


but Aunt Milly, comprehending the whole at once, and feeling 
glad that her mistress had her match in her son, set to work 
with a right good will, and when about dusk Mrs. Livingstone 
came home, she was astonished at seeing a light in the parlor 
chamber, while occasionally she could discern the outline of a 
form moving before the window. What could it mean? Per- 
haps they had company, and springing from the carriage she 
hastened into the house, meeting ’Lena in the hall, and eagerly 
asking who was in the front chamber. 

‘“T believe,’’ said ’Lena, ‘‘ that my cousin is not pleased with 
the change, and has gone back to the front room.” 

«The impudent thing !’’ exclaimed Mrs. Livingstone, igno- 
rant of her son’s return, and as a matter of course attributing 
the whole to Mabel. 

Darting up the stairs, she advanced toward the chamber and 
pushing open the door stood face to face with John Jr., who, 
with hands crammed in his pockets and legs crossed, was lean- 
ing against the mantel, waiting and ready for whatever might 
occur. 
<** John Livingstone ! ” she gasped in her surprise. 

<‘That’s my name,”’ he returned, quietly enjoying her look 
of amazement. 

‘‘ What do you mean ?”’ she continued. 

«¢ Mean what I say,’’ was his provoking answer. 

‘‘What have you been about?’’ was her next question, to 
which he replied, ‘‘ Your eyesight is not deficient—you can see 
for yourself.’ 

Gaining no satisfaction from him, Mrs. Livingstone now 
turned upon Mabel, abusing her until John Jr. sternly com- 
manded her to desist, bidding her ‘‘ confine her remarks to 
himself, and let his wife alone, as she was not in the least to 
blame.”’ 

‘‘ Your wife!’’ repeated Mrs. Livingstone—*‘ very affec- 
tionate you’ve grown, all at once. Perhaps you’ve forgotten 
that you married her to spite Nellie, who you then believed 
was the bride of Mr. Wilbur, but you surely remember how 
you fainted when you accidentally learned your mistake.”’ 

A cry from Mabel, who fell back, fainting, among the pil- 
lows, prevented Mrs. Livingstone from any further remarks, 
and satisfied with the result of her visit, she walked away, 


while John Jr., springing to the bedside, bore his young wife 


to the open window, hoping the cool night air would revive 
her. But she lay so pale and motionless in his arms, her head 


a ee 


LENA RIVERS. 907 ° 


resting so heavily upon his shoulder, that with a terrible fore- 
boding he laid her back upon the bed, and rushing to the door, 
shouted loudly, ‘‘ Help—somebody—come quick—Mabel is 
dead, I know she is.”’ | | 

"Lena heard the cry and hastened to the rescue, starting 
back when she saw the marble whiteness of Mabel’s face. 

‘¢T didn’t kill her, "Lena. God knows I didn’t. Poor lit- 
tle Meb,’’ said John Jr., quailing beneath ’Lena’s rebuking 
glance, and bending anxiously over the slight form which 
looked so much like death. 

But Mabel was not dead. ’Lena knew it by the faint flut- 
tering of her heart, and an application of the usual remedies 
sufficed, at last, to restore her to consciousness. With a long- 
drawn sigh her eyes unclosed, and looking earnestly in ’Lena’s 
face, she said, ‘‘Was it a dream, ’LenaP ‘Tell me, was it all 
a dream ?’’—then, as she observed her husband, she added, 
shudderingly, ‘‘ No, no, not adream. I remember it all now. 
And I wish I was dead.” 

Again ’Lena’s rebuking glance went over to John Jr., who, 
advancing nearer to Mabel, gently laid his hand upon her 
white brow, saying, softly, ‘<‘ Poor, poor Meb.”’ 

There was genuine pity in the tones of his voice, and while 
the hot tears gushed forth, the sick girl murmured, ‘‘ Forgive 
me, John, I couldn’t help it. I didn’t know it, and now, if 
you say so, I’ll go away, alone—where you'll never see me 


again.” 


She comprehended it all. Her mother-in-law had rudely 
torn away the veil, and she saw why she was there—knew why 
he had sought her for his wife—understood all his coldness and 
neglect ; but she had no word of reproach for him, her hus- 
band, and from the depths of her crushed heart she forgave 
him, commiserating him as the greater sufferer. 

<¢ Maybe I shall die,’’ she whispered, ‘‘ and then ’’?— 

She did not finsh the sentence, neither was it necessary, for 
John Jr. understood what she meant, and with his conscience 


‘smiting him as it did, he felt half inclined co declare, with his 


usual impulsiveness, that it should never be; but the rash 


Pe was not made, and it was far better that it should not 


208 LENA RIVERS. 


CHAPTER XXVIL 
THE SHADOW. 


MaBEL’s nerves had received too great a shock to rally im- 
mediately, and as day after day went by, she still kept her 
room, notwithstanding the very pointed hints of her mother-in- 
law that ‘she was making believe for the sake of sympathy.”’ 
Why didn’t she get up and go out doors—anybody would be 
sick to be flat on their back day in and day out; or did she 
think she was spiting her by showing what muss she could keep. 
the ‘‘ best chamber ’’ in if she chose ? 

This last was undoubtedly the grand secret of Mrs. Living- 
stone’s dissatisfaction. Foiled in her efforts to dislodge them, 
she would not yield without any attempt at making Mabel, at 
least, as uncomfortable in mind as possible. Accordingly, al- 
most every day when her son was not present, she conveyed 
from the room some nice article of furniture, substituting in its 
place one of inferior quality, which was quite good enough, 
she thought, for a penniless bride. 

‘¢’Pears like ole miss goin’ to make a clean finish of her dis 
time,’”’ said Aunt Milly, who watched her mistress’ daily depre- 
dations. ‘‘Ole Sam done got title deed of her, sure enough. 
Ki! won’t she ketch it in t’other world, when he done show 
her his cloven foot, and won’t she holler for old Milly to fotch 
her a drink of water? not particular then—drink out of the 
bucket, gourd-shell or anything; but dis nigger’ll ’sign her 
post in de parlor afore she’ll go.”’ 

‘‘Why, Milly,’”’ said "Lena, who overheard this colloquy, 
‘‘don’t you know it’s wrong to indulge in such wicked. 
thoughts ?”’ 

«* Bless you, child,’’ returned the old negress, “she ’sarves 
"em all for treatin’ that poor, dear lamb so. I'd ’nihilate her 
if I’s Miss Mabel.” 

‘No, no, Milly,’’ said Aunt Polly, who was present. ‘‘ You 
must heap coals of fire on her head.”’ 

«Yes, yes, that’s it—she orto have ’em,”’ qui_kiy responded. 
Milly, thinking Polly’s method of revenge the very best in the 
world, provided the coals were ‘‘bilin’ hot,’’ and with this re 


LENA RIVERS. 309 


flection she started upstairs, with a bowl of nice, warm gruel 
she had been preparing for the invalid. 

Several times each day Grandma Nichols visited Mabei’s 
room, always prescribing some new tea of herbs, whose healing | 
qualities were wonderful, having effected cures in every mem- 
ber of Nancy Scovandyke’s family, that lady herself, as a mat- 
ter of course, being first included. And Aunt Milly, with the 
faithfulness characteristic of her race, would seek out each new 
herb, uniting with it her own simple prayer that it might have 
the desired effect. But all in vain, for every day Mabel be- 
came weaker, while her dark eyes grew larger and brighter, 
anon lighting up with joy as she heard her husband’s footsteps 
in the hall, and again filling with tears as she glanced timidly 
into his face, and thought of the dread reality. 

‘¢ Maybe I shall die,’’ was more than once murmured in her 
sleep, and John Jr., as often as he heard those words, would 
press her burning hands, and mentally reply, ‘‘ Poor little 
Meb.”’ 

And all this time no one thought to call a physician, until 
Mr. Livingstone himself at last suggested it. At first he had 
felt no interest whatever in his daughter-in-law, but with him 
force of habit was everything, and when she no longer came 
among them, he missed her —missed her languid steps upon the 
stairs and her childish voice in the parlor. At last it one day 
occurred to him to visit her. She was sleeping when he en- 
tered the room, but he could see there had been a fearful 
change since last he looked upon her, and without a word con- 
cerning his intentions, he walked to the kitchen, ordering one 
of his servants to start forthwith for the physician, whose resi- 
dence was a few miles distant. 

Mrs. Livingstone was in the front parlor when he returned, 
in company with Doctor Gordon, and immediately her avari- 
cious spirit asked who would pay the bill, and why was he sent 
for. Mabel did not need him—she was only babyish and 
spleeny—and so’she told the physician, who, however, did not 
agree with her. He did not say that Mabel would die, but he 
thought so, for his experienced eye saw in her infallible signs 
of the disease which had stricken down both her parents, and 
to which, from her birth, she had been aprey. Mabel guessed 
as much from his manner, and when again he visited her, she 
asked him plainly what he thought. 

She was young—a bride—surrounded apparently by every: 
thing which could make her happy, and the physician hesitated, 


916 LENA RIVERS, 


answering her evasively, until she said, ‘‘ Do not fear to tell me 
truly, for I want to die. Oh, I long to die,’’ she continued, 
passionately clasping her thin white hands together. — 

‘¢That is an unusual wish in one so young,’’ answered the 
physician, ‘‘ but to be plain with you, Mrs. Livingstone, | think 
consumption too deeply seated to admit of your recovery. You 
may be better, but never well. Your disease is hereditary, and 
has been coming on too long.” 

«« Jt is well,’’? was Mabel’s only answer, as she turned wearily 
upon her side and hid her face in the pillows. 

For a long time she lay there, thinking, weeping, and think- 
ing again, of the noisome grave through which she must pass, 
and from which she instinctively shrank, it was so dark, so 
cold, and dreary. But Mabel had trusted in One who she 
*new would go with her down into the lone valley—whose arm 
sne felt would uphold her as she crossed the dark, rolling stream 
of death; and as if her frail bark were already safely moored 
upon the shores of the eternal river, she looked back dreamily 
upon the world she had left, and as she saw what she felt would 
surely be, she again murmured through her tears, ‘‘ It is well.” 

That night, when John Jr. came up to his room, he appeared 
somewhat moody and cross, barely speaking to Mabel, and tnen 
walking up and down the room with the heavy tread which al- 
ways indicated a storm within. He had that day been to Frank- 
fort, hearing that Nellie was really coming home very soon— 
very possibly she was now on her way. Of course she woula 
visit Mabel, when she heard she was sick, and of course he 
must meet her face to face, must stand with her at the bedside 
of kis wife and that wife Mabel. In his heart he did not ac- 
cuse the latter of feigning her illness, but he wished she would 
, get well faster, so that Nellie need not feel obliged to visit her. 
She could at least make an effort—a great deal depended upon 
that—and she had now been confined to her room three or four 
weeks. 

Thus he reflected as he walked, and at last his thoughts 
formed themselves into words. Stopping short at the foot ot 
the bed, he said abruptly and without looking her in the face, 
‘‘ How do you feel to-night ?’”’ 

The stifled cough which Mabel tried to suppress because it 
was offensive to him, brought a scowl to his forehead, and in 
imagination he anticipated her answer, ‘I do not think I am 
any better.’’ 

‘‘And I don’t believe you try to be,”’ sprang to his lips, but 








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LENA RIVERS. 911 


its utterance was prevented by a glance at her face, which by 
the flickering lamplight looked whiter than ever. 

‘Nellie is coming home in a few weeks,’’ he said at length, 
with his usual precipitancy. 

"Twas the first time Mabel had heard that name since the 
night when her mother-in-law had rung it in her ears, and now 
she started so quickly, that the offending cough could not be 
forced back, and the coughing fit which followed was so violent 
that John Jr., as he held the bowl to her quivering lips, saw 
that what she had raised was streaked with blood. But he was 
unused to sickness, and he gave it no farther thought, resuming 
the conversation as soon as she became quiet. 

‘‘To be plain, Meb,’’ said he, ‘I want you to hurry and get 
well before Nellie comes—for if you are sick she’ll feel in duty 
bound to visit you, and I’d rather face a loaded cannon than 
bers 

Mabel was too much exhausted to answer immediately, and 
she lay so long with her eyes closed that John Jr., growing im- 
patient, said, ‘‘ Are you asleep, Meb?”’ 

<‘No, no,’’ said she, at the same time requesting him to take 
the vacant chair by her side, as she wished to talk with him. 

John Jr. hated to be talked to, particularly by her, for he felt 
that she had much cause to reproach him; but she did not, and 


“as she proceeded, his heart melted toward her in a manner 


which he had never thought possible. Very gently she spoke 
of her approaching end as sure. 

‘¢ You ask me to make haste and be well,”’ said she, ‘‘ but it 
cannot be. I shall never go out into the bright sunshine again, 
never join you in the parlor below, and before the cold winds 
of winter are blowing, I shall be dead. I hope I shall live until 
Nellie comes, for I must see her, I must make it right between 
her and you. I must tell her to forgive you for marrying me 
when you loved only her; and she will listen—she won't refuse 
me, and when I am gone you'll be happy together.’’ 

John Jr. did not speak, but the little hand which nervously 
moved toward him was met more than half-way, and thus 
strengthened, Mabel continued: ‘‘ You must sometimes think 
and speak of Mabel when she is dead. I do not ask you to call 
me wife. I do not wish it, but you must forget how wretched 
I have made you, for oh, I did not mean it, and had I sooner 
known what I do now, I would have died ere I had caused you 
one pang of sorrow. 

Afterward, when it was too late, John Jr. would have given 


913 LENA RIVERS. 


worlds to recall that moment, that he might telf the broken- 
hearted girl how bitterly he, too, repented of all the wrong he 
had done her; but he did not say so then—he could only 
listen, while he mentally resolved that if Mabel were indeed 
about to die, he would make the remainder of her short life 
happy, and thus atone, as far as possible, for the past. But 
alas for John Jr., his resolutions were easily broken, and as 
days and weeks went by, and there was no perceptible change 
in her, he grew weary of well-doing, absenting himself whole 
days from the sick-room, and at night rather unwillingly re- 
suming his post as watcher, for Mabel would have no one else. 

Since Mabel’s illness he had occupied the little room adjoin- 
ing hers, and often when in the still night he lay awake, watch- 
ing the shadow which the lamp cast upon the wall, and thinking 
of her for whom the light was constantly kept burning, his con- 
‘science would smite him terribly, and rising up, he would steal 
softly to her bedside to see if she were sleeping quietly. But 
anon he grew weary of this, too; the shadow on the wall trou- 
bled him, it kept him awake; it was a continual reproach, and 
he must be rid of it, somehow. He tried the experiment of 
closing his door, but Mabel knew the moment he attempted it, 
and he could not refuse her when she asked him to leave it 


n. 

Cage Jr. grew restless, fidgety, and nervous. Why need the 
lamp be kept burning? He could light it when necessary ; or 
why need he sleep there, when some one else would do as well ? 
He thought of ’Lena—she was just the one, and the next day 
he would speak to‘her. ‘To his great joy she consented to re- 
lieve him awhile, provided Mabel were willing ; but she was not, 
and John Jr. was forced to submit. He was not accustomed 
to restraint, and every night matters grew worse and worse. 
The shadow annoyed him exceedingly. If he slept, he dreamed 
that it kept a glimmering watch over him, and when he awoke, 
he, in turn, watched over that, until the misty daylight came 
to dissipate the phantom. 

About this time several families from Frankfort started for 
New Orleans, where they were wont to spend the winter, and 
irresistibly, John Jr. became possessed of a desire to visit that 
city, too. Mabel would undoubtedly live until spring, now 
that the trying part of autumn was past and there could be ne 
harm in his leaving her for awhile, when he so much needed 
rest. Accordingly, ’Lena was one day surpriscd by his an< 
nouncing his intended trip. 


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LENA RIVERS. al3 


‘¢ But you cannot be in earnest,”’ she said; * you surely will 
not leave Mabel now.”’ 

««And why note”? he asked. ‘‘She doesn’t grow any 
worse, and won’t until spring, and this close confinement is 
absolutely killing me! Why, I’ve lost six pounds in six 
months, and you’ll see to her, I know you will. You’re a good 
girl, and I like you, if I did get angry with you, weeks ago 
when I went a hunting.”’ 

’Lena knew he ought not to go, and she tried hard to.con- 
vince him of the fact, telling him how much pleasure she had 
felt in observing his improved manner toward Mabel, and that 
he must not spoil it now. 

‘¢It’s no use talking,” said he, ‘‘I’m bent on going some- 
where. I’ve tried to be good, I know, but the fact is, I can’t 
stay put. It isn’t my nature. I shan’t tell Meb till just be- 
fore I start, for I hate scenes.’”’ 

‘¢ And suppose she dies while you are gone?’ asked ’Lena. 

John was beginning to grow impatient, for he knew he was 
wrong, and rather tartly he answered, as he left the room, 
“¢ Give her a decent burial, and present the bill to mother !”’ 

The next morning, as ’Lena sat alone with Mabel, John jr. 
entered, dressed and ready for his journey. But he found it 
harder telling xis wife than he had anticipated. She looked 
unusually pale this morning. The sallowness of her complex- 
ion was all gone, and on either cheek there burned a round, 
bright spot. “Lena had just been arranging her thick, glossy 
hair, and now, wholly exhausted, she reclined upon her pil- 
lows, while her large black eyes, unnaturally bright, sparklea 
with joy at the sight of her husband. But they quickly filled 
with tears when told that he was going away, and had come to 
say good-bye. 

‘¢It’s only to New Orleans and back,”’ he said, as he saw 
her changing face. ‘‘I shan’t be gone long, and ’Lena will 
take care of you a heap better than I can.”’ 

‘‘It isn’t that,’? answered Mabel, wiping her tears away. 
** Don’t go, John. Wait a little while. I’m sure it won’t be 
fong.’’ 

‘‘You are nervous,’’ said he, playfully tapping her white 
cheek. ‘‘You’re not going to die. You'll live to be grand- 
mother yet, who knows? But I must be off or lose the train. 
Good-bye, little Meb,”’ grasping her hand. ‘* Good-bye, ’Lena. 
Pll bring you both something nice—good-bye.” 

‘©When she saw that he was going, Mabel asked hit to 


914 LENA RIVERS. 


come back to her bedside just for one moment. He could not 
refuse, and winding her long, emaciated arms around his neck, 
she whispered, ‘‘ Kiss me once before you go. I shall never 
ask it again, and ’twill make me happier when you are gone.’’ 

‘sA dozen times, if you like,’ said he, giving. her the only 
husband’s kiss she had ever received. 

For a moment longer she detained him, while she prayed 
silently for heaven’s blessing on his wayward head, and then 
releasing him, she bade him go. Had he known of all that 
was to follow, he would not have left her, but he believed as 
he said, that she would survive the winter, and with one more 
Kiss upon her brow, where the perspiration was standing thickly, 
ne departed. The window ef Mabel’s room commanded a 
view of the turnpike, and when the sound of horses’ feet was 
heard on the lawn, she requested ’Lena to lead her to the win- 
dow, where she stood watching him until a turn in the road 
hid him from her sight. 

‘‘’Tis the last time,’’ said she, *‘and he will never know 
how much this parting cost me.’’ | 

That night, as they were alone in the gathering twilight, 
Mabel said, ‘‘If I die before Nellie comes I want you to tell 
her how it all happened, and that she must forgive him, for he 
was not to blame.”’ 

‘*I do not understand you,”’ said ’Lena, and then, in broken 
sentences, Mabel told what her mother-in-law had said, and 
how terribly John was deceived. ‘‘Of course he couldn’t love 
me after that,’’ said she, ‘‘ and it’s right that I should die. He 
and Nellie were made for each other, and if the inhabitants of 
heaven are allowed to watch over those they loved on earth, I 
will ask to be always near them. You will tell her, won’t 
you?” 

’*Lena promised, adding that she thought Mabel would see 
Nellie herself as she was to sail from Liverpool the 2oth, and 
a fews days proved her conjecture correct. Entering Mabel’s 
room one morning about a week after John’s departure, she 
brought the glad news that Nellie had returned, and would be 
with them to-morrow. 

The next day Nellie came, but she, too, was changed. The 
roundness of her form and face was gone; the rose had faded 
from her cheek, and her footsteps were no longer light and 
bounding as of old. She knew of John Jr.’s absence or she 
would not have come, for she could not meet him face to face. 
She had heard, too, of his treatment of Mabel, and while she 


a 





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OS? at | Ae. 2 CPs ; wt 


LENA RIVERS. 218 


felt indignant toward him, she freely forgave his innocent wife, 
who she felt had been more sinned against than sinning. 

With a faint cry Mabel started from her pillow, and burying 
her face on Nellie’s neck, wept like a child. ‘You do not 
hate me,” she said at last, ‘sor you would not have come so 
soon.’ 

‘«¢ Hate you >—no,”’ answered Nellie. <I have no cause for 
hating you.”’ 

‘«¢And you will stay with me until I die—until he eomes 
home—and forgive him, too,’? Mabel continued. 

«‘T can promise the first, but the latter is harder,’’ said 
Nellie, her cheeks burning with anger as she gazed on the 
wreck before her. 

‘¢But you must, you will,’’ exclaimed Mabel, rapidly telling 
all she knew; then falling back upon the pillow, she added, 
«You'll forgive him, Nellie?” 

As time passed on, Mabel grew weaker and weaker, clinging 
closer to Nellie as she felt the dark shadow of death creeping 
gradually over her. 

‘<If he’d only come,” she would say, ‘‘and I could place 
your hand in his before I died.” 

But it was not to be. Day after day John Jr. lingered, 
dreading to return, for he knew Nellie was there, and he could 
not meet her, he thought, at the bedside of Mabel. So he 
tarried until a letter from ’Lena, which said that Mabel would 
die, decided him, and rather reluctantly he started homeward. 
Meantime Mabel, who knew nothing of her loss, conceived the 
generous idea of willing all her possessions to her recreant 
husband. 

“* Perhaps he’ll think more kindly of me,”’ said she to his 
father, to whom she first communicated her plan, and Mr. Liv- 
ingstone felt that he could not undeceive her. 

Accordingly, a lawyer was summoned from Frankfort, and 
the will duly drawn up, signed, sealed, and delivered into the 
hands of Mr. Livingstone, whose wife, with a mocking laugh, 
bade him ‘guard it carefully, it was so valuable.” 

“¢ Tt shows her goodness of heart, at least,’’ said he, and pos- 
sibly Mrs. Livingstone thought so, too, for from that time her 
manner softened greatly toward her daughter-in-law. 


>? 


** * * K * * * 


It was midnight at Maple Grove. On the table, in its ac- 
customed place, the lamp was burning dimly, casting the 


916 LENA RIVERS. 


shadow upon the wall, whilst over the whole room a darker 
shadow was brooding. ‘The window was open, and the cool 
night air came softly in, lifting the masses of raven hair from 
off the pale brow of the dying. Tenderly above her Nellie and 
"Lena were bending. ‘They had watched by her many a night, 
and now she asked them not to leave her, not to disturb a sin- 
gle one—she would rather die alone. 

The sound of horses’ hoofs rang out on the still air, but she 
did not heed it. Nearer and nearer it came, over the lawn, up 
the graveled walk, through the yard, and Nellie’s face blanched 
to an unnatural whiteness as she thought who that midnight- 
rider was. Arrived in Frankfort only an hour before, he had 
hastened forward, impelled by a something he could not resist. 
From afar he had caught the glimmering light, and he felt he 
was not too late. He knew how to enter the house, and on 
through the wide hall and up the broad staircase he came, until 
he stood in the chamber, where before him another guest had 
entered, whose name was Death! 

Face to face he stood with Nellie Douglass, and between 
them lay 4zs wife—her rival—the white hands folded meekly 
upon her bosom, and the pale lips just as they had breathed a 
prayer for him. 

<‘Mabel! She is dead!’ was all he uttered, and falling 
upon his knees, he buried his face in the pillow, while half 
scornfully, half pityingly, Nellie gazed upon him. | 

There was much of bitterness in her heart toward him, not 
for the wrong he had done her, but for the sake of the young 
girl, now passed forever away. ’Lena felt differently. His si- 
lent grief conquered all resentment, and going to his side, she 
told him how peacefully Mabel had died—how to the last she 
had loved and remembered him, praying that he might be 
happy when she was gone. 

‘‘Poor little Meb, she deserved a better fate,’’ was all he 
said, as he continued his kneeling posture, until the family and 
servants, whom Nellie had summoned, came crowding round, 
the cries of the latter grating on the ear, and seeming sadly out 
of place for her whose short life had been so dreary, and who 
had welcomed death as a release from all her pain. 

It was Mrs. Livingstone’s wish that Mabel should be arrayed 
in her bridal robes, but with a shudder at the idle mockery, 
John Jr. answered, ‘‘No,’’ and in a plain white muslin, her 
shining hair arrayed as she was wont to wear it, they placed 
her in her coffin, and on a sunny slope where the golden sun- 


in daw 


LENA RIVERS. 217 


light and the pale moonbeams latest fell, and where in spring 
the bright green grass and the sweet wild flowers are earliest 
seen, laid her down to sleep. : 
That night, when all around was still, John Jr. lay musing 
sadly of the past. His affection for Mabel had been slight and 
variable, but now that she was gone, he missed her. The 
large easy-chair, with its cushions and pillows, was empty, 
and as he thought of the pale, dark face and aching head he 
had so often seen reclining there, and which he would never 
see again, he groaned in bitterness of spirit, for well he knew that 
he had helped to break the heart now lying cold and still beneath 
the coffin-lid. There was no shadow on the wall, for the lamp 


Shad gone out with the young life for whom it had been kept 


ae 


burning, but many a shadow lay dark and heavy across his 
heart. | 

With the sun-setting a driving rain had come on, and as the 
November wind went howling past the window, and the large 
drops beat against the casement, he thought of the lonesome 
little grave on which that rain was falling ; and shuddering, he 
hid his face in the pillows, asking to be forgiven, for he knew 
that all too soon that grave was made, and he had helped to 
make it. At last, long after the clock had told the hour of 
midnight, he arose, and lighting the lamp which many a weary 


- night had burned for her, he placed it where the shadow would 
_fall upon the wall as it had done of old. It was no longer a 
phantom to annoy him, and soothed by its presence, he fell 


asleep, dreaming that Mabel had come back to bring him her 
iorgiveness, but when he essayed to touch her, she vanished 
from his sight, and there was nothing left save that shadow on 


>) the wall. 





CHAPTER XXVIII. 
MRS. GRAHAM’S RETURN. 


Mr. anp Mrs. GraHAm had returned to Woodlawn, the 
former remaining but a day and night, and then, without once 
seeing ’Lena, departing for Europe, where business, either 


%, fancied or real, called him. Often, when lying weary and 


- sick in Havana, had he resolved on revealing to his wife the 


secret which he felt was wearing his life away, but the coward- 
ice ef his nature seemed increased by physical weakness, and 


% 


918 - LENA RIVERS. 


from time to ume was the disclosure postponed, while the cham 
of evidence was fearfully lengthening around poor ’Lena, te 
whom Mrs. Graham had transferred the entire weight of her 
displeasure. 

Loving her husband as well as such as she could love, she 
was ever ready to forgive when she saw any indications of re- 
form on his part, and as during all their journey he had never 
once given her cause for offense, she began to attribute his 
former delinquencies wholly to *Lena; and when he proposed 
a tour to Europe she readily sanctioned it, hoping that time 
and absence would remove from his mind all thoughts of the 
beautiful girl, who she thought was her rival. Still, though 
she would not confess it, in her heart she did not believe ’Lena 
guilty except so far as a desire to attract Mr. Graham’s atten- 
tion would make her so. - 

For this belief she had a good and potent reason. The 

daguerreotype which had caused so much trouble was still in 
her possession, guarded carefully from her husband, who never 
suspecting the truth, supposed he had lost it. Frequently had 
Mrs. Graham examined the picture, each time discovering 
some point of difference between it and its supposed original. 
Still she never for a moment doubted that it was ’Lena, until 
an event occurred which convinced her of the contrary, leaving 
her, meantime, more mystified than ever. 

On their way home from Havana, Mr. Graham had proposed 
stopping a day in Cincinnati, taking rooms at the Burnet 
House, where the first individual whom they saw at the table 
was our old acquaintance, Joel Slocum. Not finding his busi- 
ness as profitable in Lexington as he could wish, he had re- 
cently removed to Cincinnati. Here his aspiring mind had 
prompted him to board at the Burnet House, until he’d seen 
the ‘‘ Ohio elephant,’’ when he intended retiring to one of the 
cheaper boarding-houses. The moment he saw Mr. Graham, 
a grin of recognition became visible on his face, bringing to 
view a row of very long and very yellow teeth, apparently un- 
acquainted with the use of either water or brush. 

«Who is that loafer who seems to know you ?’”’ asked Mrs. 
Graham, directing her husband’s attention toward Joel. ‘ 

Mr. Graham replied that ‘‘he had once seen him in Lexing- 
ton, and that he took daguerreotypes.”’ & | 

The moment dinner was over, Joel came forward, goin 
through with one of his wonderful bows, and exclaiming, with \ 
‘is peculiar nasal twang, ‘‘Now you don’t say this is you. 






o< 
2 wy 
Se 


7 


se 


LENA RIVERS. 219 


And this is your old woman, I s’pose. Miss Graham, how-dy- 
du? Darned if you don’t look like Aunt Nancy, only she’s 
lean and you are squatty. S’posin’ you give me a call and get 
your picters taken. I didn’t get an all-killin’ sight of practice 
in Lexington, for the plaguy greenhorns didn’t know enough to 
patternize me, and ’tain’t a tarnation sight better here; but 
you,’ turning to Mr. Graham, ‘‘employed me once, and pre- 
tended to be suited.”’ 

Mr. Graham turned scarlet, and saying something in an 
undertone to Joel, gave his wife his arm, leading her to their 
room, where he made an excuse for leaving her awhile. Look- 
ing from the window a moment after, Mrs. Graham saw him 
walking down the street in close conversation with Joel, who, 
by the way of showing his importance, lifted his white beaver 

‘s almost every man he met. Instantly her curiosity was 
“aused, and when her husband returned, every motion of his 


_ was narrowly watched, the espionage resulting in the conviction 


that there was something in his possession which he did not 


‘wish her to see. Once, when she came unexpectedly upon 


a > 





him, he hastily thrust something into his pocket, appearing so 


--much confused that she resolved to ferret out the secret. 


Accordingly, that night, when assured by his heavy breath- 
ing that he was asleep, she crept softly from his side, and rum- 


.taaging his pockets, found a daguerreotype, which by the full 


moonlight she saw was a fac-szmile of the one she had in her 
possession. The arrangement of the hair—everything—was 
the same, and utterly confounded, she stood gazing first at one 


) and then at the other, wondering what it meant. Could ’Lena 


be in the city? She thought not, and even if she were, the last 
daguerreotype was not so much like her, she fancied, as the 
first. At all events, she did not dare secrete it as she had done 


its companion, and stealthily returning it to its place, she crept 


back to bed. 

The next night they reached Woodlawn, where they learned 
that Mabel was buried that day. Of course Lena could not 
have been absent from home. Mrs. Graham felt convinced of 
that, and gradually the conviction came upon her that another 
than "Lena was the original of the daguerreotypes. And yet 
she was not generous enough to tell Durward so. She knew he 
was deceived—she wished him to remain so—and to effect it, 
she refrained from seeking an explanation from her husband, 
fearing lest "Lena should be proved innocent. Her husband 
‘knew there was a misunderstanding between Durward and 


e 
* 


930 LENA RIVERS. 


’Lena, and if she were to ask him about the pictures, he would, 
she thought, at once suspect the cause of that misunderstand- 
ing, and as a matter of course, exonerate ’Lena from all blame. 
The consequence of this she foresaw, and therefore she resolved 
upon keeping her own counsel, satisfied if in the end she pre- 
vented Durward from making ’Lena his wife. 

To effect this, she endeavored, during the winter, to keep the 
matter almost constantly before Durward’s mind, frequently re- 
ferring to ’’Lena’s agitation when she first learned that Mr. 
Graham had started for Europe. She had called with her son 
at Maple Grove on the very day of her husband’s departure. 
"Lena had not met the lady before, since that night in Frank- 
fort, and now, with the utmost hauteur, she returned her od, 
and then, too proud to leave the room, resumed her seat near 
the window directly opposite the divan en which Durward was 
seated with Carrie. 

She did not know before of Mrs. Grahaia’s return, and when 
her aunt casually asked, ‘‘ Did your husband come back with 
you ?’”’ she involuntarily held her breath for the answer, which, 
when it came, sent the blood in torrents to her face and neck, 
while her eyes sparkled with joy. She should see him—he 
would explain everything—and she should be guiltless in Dur- 
ward’s sight. This was the cause of her joy, which was 
quickly turned into sorrow by Mrs. Graham’s adding, ‘‘ But he 
started this morning for Europe, where he will remain three 
months, and perhaps longer, just according to his business.”’ 

The bright flush died away, and was succeeded by paleness, 
which did not escape the observation of either mother or son, 
the latter of whom had watched her from the first, noting each 
change, and interpreting it according to his fears. 

‘<’?Lena, ’Lena, how have I been deceived !’’ was his mental 
cry as she precipitately left the room, saying to her aunt, who 
asked what was the matter, that she was faint and dizzy. 
Death had been but yesterday within their walls, and as if 
softened by its presence, Mrs. Livingstone actually spoke 
kindly of her niece, saying, that ‘‘ constait watching with poor, 
_ dear Mabel had impaired her health.” 

.. “Perhaps there are other causes which may affect her,’’ re- 
turned Mrs. Graham, with a meaning look, which, though lost 
on Mrs. Livingstone, was noticed by Durward,: who soon pro- 
posed leaving. 

_ On their way home, his mother asked if he observed Len? 
When Mr. Graham was mentioned. 


ayo 
ed 


LENA RIVEBS. 921 


Without saying that he did, Durward replied, **I noticed 
your remark to Mrs. Livingstone, and was sorry for it, for I do 
not wish you to say a word which will throw the least shade of 
suspicion upon *Lena. Her reputation as yet is good, and you 
must not be the first to say aught against it.’’ 

‘<T won’t, I won’t,’’ answered Mrs. Graham, anxious to con- 
ciliate her son, but she found it a harder matter to refrain than 
she had first supposed. 

"Lena was to her a constant eye-sore, and nothing but the 
presence of Durward prevented her from occasionally giving 


a yvent in public to expressions which would have operated un- 


favorably against the young girl, and when at last circum- 


stances occurred which gave her, as she thought, liberty 
to free her mind, she was only too willing to do so. Of 
those circumstances, in which others besides ’Lena were con- 
cerned, we will speak in another chapter. 





CHAPTER XXIX. 
ANNA AND CAPTAIN ATHERTON, 


Ma.LcoLm EvERETT’S engagement with General Fontaine had 
expired, and as was his original intention, he started for New 
York, first seeking an interview with Mr. and Mrs. Livingstone, 
of whom he asked their daughter Anna in marriage, at the same 
time announcing the startling fact that they had been engaged 
for more than a Years i)" I do not ask you for her now,”’ said 
he, ‘‘ for I am not in a situation to support her as I would wish 
to, but that time will come ere iong, I trust, and I can assure 
you that her happiness shall be the first object of my life.” 

There was no cringing on the part of Malcolm Everett. He 
was unused to that, and as an equal meets an equal, he met 
them, made known his request, and then in silence awaited 
their answer. Had Mrs. Livingstone been less indignant, there 
would undoubtedly have ensued a clamorous call for hartshorn 
and vinaigrette, but as it was, she started up, and confronting 


the young man, she exclaimed, “ How dare you ask such a: & 
thing? AZy daughter marry you / oh ye 
« And why not, madam?”’ he answered, coolly, while Mrs. 
Livingstone coniniied ; ‘¢ You, a low- fore Yankee, who have | 
been, as it were, an hireling. Yow presume to ask for PD 


daughter ! iy 


222 LENA RIVERS. 


«‘T do,’’ he answered, calmly, with a quiet smile, tenfold more 
tantalizing than harsh words would have been, ‘Ido. Can T 
have her with your consent?” 

‘¢Never, so long as I live. I’d sooner see her dead than 
wedded to vulgar poverty.” . 

‘*That is your answer. Very well,’’ said Malcolm, bowing 
stiffly. ‘And now I will hear yours,” turning to Mr. Living- 
stone, who replied, that ‘‘he would leave the matter entirely 
with his wife—it was nothing to him—he had nothing personai 
against Mr. Everett—he rather liked him than otherwise, but 
he hardly thought Anna suited to him, she had been brought 
up so differently ;’’ and thus evasively answering, he walked 
away. 

«‘ Cowardly fool!’’ muttered Mrs. Livingstone, as the door 
closed upon him. <‘If I pretended to be a man, I’d be one; ” 
then turning to Malcolm, she said, ‘‘ Is there anything further 
you wish to say ?”’ 

‘‘Nothing,’’ he replied. ‘‘J have honorably asked you for 
your daughter. You have refused her, and must abide the 
consequence.’ 

‘«¢ And pray what may that be ?’’ she asked, and he answered : 
«She will soon be of an age to act for herself, and though I 
would far rather take her with your consent, I shall not then 
hesitate to take her without, if you still persist in opposing 
her.”? 

‘¢ There is the door,’’ said Mrs. Livingstone, rising. 

fT see at, madam,” answered Malcolm, without deigning te 
move. 

“‘Oblige me by passing out,’’ continued Mrs. Livingstone. 
‘‘Tnsolent creature, to stand here threatening to elope with my 
daughter, who has been destined for another since her in- 
fancy.’’ 

‘¢ But she shall never become the bride of that old man,’’ an- 
swered Malcolm. <‘‘I know your schemes. I’ve seen them 
all along, and I will frustrate them, too.’’ 

*‘ You cannot,’’ fiercely answered Mrs. Livingstone. ‘It 
shall be ere another year comes round, and when you hear that 


‘ _ it is so, know that you hastened it forward ;” and the indignant 
“sady, finding that her opponent was not inclined to move, left 


the room herself, going in quest of Anna, whom she determined 
te watch for fear of what might happen. 

But Anna was nowhere to be found, and in a paroxysm of 
age she alarmed the household, instituting a strict search, which 





wENA RIVERS. 993 


resulted in the discovery of Anna beneath the same sycamore 
where Malcolm had first breathed his vows, and whither she 
had repaired to await the decision of her parents. 

<‘T expected as much,” said she, when told of the result, 
‘¢but it mattersnot. lam yours, and I’ll never marry another.”’ 

The approach of the servants prevented any further conver- 
sation, and with a hurried adieu they parted. A few, days 
afterward, as Mrs. Livingstone sat in her large easy-chair be- 
fore the glowing grate, Captain Atherton was announced, and 

*/-...-shown at once into her room. ‘To do Mrs. Livingstone justice, 
*-\we must say that she had long debated the propriety of giving 
S ~Anna, in all the freshness of her girlhood, to a man old as her 

‘father, but any hesitancy she had heretofore felt, had now van- 

“=. ished. The crisis had come, and when the captain, as he had 

--- two or three times before done, broached the subject, urging her 

to a decision, she replied that she was willing, provided Anna’s 
_ consent could be gained. 

—/.... ‘‘Pho! that’s easy enough,” said the captain, complacently 
/ rubbing together his fat hands and smoothing his colored whis- 
~~) kers—‘‘ Bring her in here, and I’ll coax her in five minutes.’’ 
~ , Anna was sitting with her grandmother and ’Lena, when 
word came that her mother wished to see her, the servant 

adding, with a titter, that ‘‘ Mas’r Atherton thar too.”’ 

Instinctively she knew why she was sent for, and turning 
white as marble, she begged her cousin to go with her. But 

=... “Lena refused, soothing the agitated girl, and begging her to be 

¢alm. ‘‘You’ve only to be decided,” said she, ‘‘ and it will 
soon be over. Captain Atherton, I am sure, will not insist 
when he sees how repugnant to your feelings it is.”’ 

But Anna knew her own weakness—she could never say, in 
her mother’s presence, what she felt—and trembling like an 
aspen, she descended the stairs, meeting in the lower hall her 
brother, who asked what was the matter. 

‘¢Oh, John, John,’’ she cried, ‘‘ Captain Atherton is in there 
with mother, and they have sent forme. What shall ldo?” 

‘‘Be a woman,”’ answered John Jr. ‘Tell him zo in good 
broad English, and if the old fellow insists, I’ll blow his brains 
out }’’ 

B: But rhe captain did not insist. He was too cunning for that, 
and when, with a burst of tears, Anna told him she could not 
be his wife. because she loved another, he said, good-humoredly, 
_  ** Well, welr, never mind spoiling those pretty blue eyes. I’m 

__ kot such an ord savage as you think me. $0 we’ll compromise 








D4 LENA RIVERS. 


the matter this way. If you really love Malcolm, why, marry 
him, and on your bridal day I’ll make you a present of a nice 
little place I have in Frankfort ; but if, on the other hand, Mal- 
colm proves untrue, you must promise to have me. Come, 
that’s a fair bargain. What do you say?” ! 

<¢ Malcolm will never prove untrue,’’ answered Anna. 

‘¢Of course not,’’ returned the captain. ‘So you are safe 
in promising.” 

«‘But what good will it do you? ”’ queried Anna. 

‘¢ No good, in particular,’’ said the captain. ‘It’s onlya 
whim of mine, to which I thought you might perhaps agree, 
in consideration of my offer.’’ 

**T do—lI will,’’ said Anna, thinking the captain not so bad 
after all. 

“<¢There’s mischief somewhere, and I advise you to watch,” 
said John Jr., when he learned from Anna the result of the in- 
terview. 

But week after week guided by. Mrs. Livingstone’s persecu- 
tions ceased, and she sometimes herself handed to Anna Mal- 
colm’s letters, which came regularly, and when about the first 
of March Captain Atherton himself went off to Washington, 
Anna gave her fears to the wind, and all the day long went 
singing about the house, unmindful of the snare laid for her 
unsuspecting footsteps. At length Malcolm’s letters suddenly 
ceased, and though Anna wrote again and again, there came 
no answer. Old Cesar, who always carried and brought the 
mail for Maple Grove, was questioned, but he declared he 
‘¢done got none from Mas’r Everett,’’ and suspicion in that 
quarter was lulled. Jnfortunately for Anna, both her father 
and John Jr. were now away, and she had no counselor save 
"Lena, who once, on her own responsibility, wrote to Malcolm, 
but with a like success, and Anna’s heart grew weary with hope 
deferred. Smilingly Mrs. Livingstone looked on, one moment 
laughing at Anna for what she termed love-sickness, and the 
next advising her to be a woman, and marry Captain Atherton. 
*‘ He was not very old—only forty-three—and it was better to 
be an old man’s darling than a young man’s slave !”” 

Thus the days wore on, until one evening just as the family 
were sitting down to tea they were surprised by a call from the 
captain, who had returned that afternoon, and who, with the 
freedom of an old friend, unceremoniously entered the supper- 
room, appropriating to himself the extra plate which Mrs. Liv- 
ingstone always had upon the table. Simultaneously with him 


‘* 


LENA RIVERS. Boh 


came Czsar, who having been to the post office, had just re- 
turned, bringing, besides other things, a paper for Carrie, from 
her old admirer, Tom Lakin, who lived in Rockford, at which 
place the paper was printed. Several times had Tom remem- 
bered Carrie in this way, and now carelessly glancing at the 
first page, she threw it upon the floor, whence it was taken by 
Anna, who examined it more minutely, glancing, as a matter of 
curse, to the marriage notices. 
Meantime the captain, who was sitting by ’Lena, casually 
, remarked, < Oh, I forgot to tell you that I saw Mr. Everett in 
es We ad -shington.”” 
al oe ‘ Mrs Everett—Malcolm Everett ?’’ said ’Lena, quickly. 
© ¥.s, Malcolm Everett,” answered the captain. ‘He is 
0) there spending the honeymoon with his bride! ’’ 
a "Lena’s exclamation of astonishment was prevented by a 
ais ~ shriek from Anna, who had that moment read the announce- 
.... “ment of Mr. Everett’s marriage, which was the first in the list. 
w “It was Malcolm H. Everett—there could be no mistake—and 
‘when ’Lena reached her cousin’s side, she found that she had 
| © ~fainted. All was now in confusion, in the midst of which the 
- .. captain took his leave, having first managed to speak a few 
e words in private with Mrs. Livingstone. 


> agg <<‘ Fortune favors us,’’ was her reply, as she went back to her 
—.. daughter, whose long, death-like swoon almost wrung from her 
<> the secret. 


But Anna revived, and with the first indication of returning 
™, consciousness, the cold, hard woman stifled all her better feel- 
_ ~~ ings, and then tried to think she was acting only for the good 
of her child. For a long time Anna appeared to be in a kind 
of benumbed torpor, requesting to be left alone, and shuddering 
tf Mr. Everett’s name were mentioned in her presence. It 
was in vain that ’Lena strove to comfort her, telling her there 
might be some mistake. Anna refused to listen, angrily bid- 
ding ’Lena desist, and saying frequently that she cared but 
little what became of herself now. A species of recklessness 
seemed to have taken possession of her, and when her mother 
one day carelessly remarked that possibly Captain Atherton 
i would claim the fulfilment of her promise, she answered, in 
best the cold, indifferent tone which now marked her manner of 
speaking, “Let him. I am ready and willing for the sacri- 
fice.”’ 
‘¢ Are you in earnest P’’ asked Mrs. Livingstone, eagerly. 
*¢In earnest? Yes—try me and see,’’ was Anna’s brief an< 








246 LENA RIVERS. 


swer, which somewhat puzzled her mother, who would in reality 
have preferred opposition to this unnatural passiveness. 

But anything to gain her purpose, she thought, and drawing 
Anna closely to her side, she very gently and affectionately told 
her how happy it would make her could she see her the wife of 
Captain Atherton, who had loved and waited for her so long, © 
and who would leave no wish, however slight, ungratified. 
And Anna, with no shadow of emotion on her calm, white 
face, consented to all that her mother asked, and when next the 
captain came, she laid her feverish hand in his, and with a 
strange, wild light beaming from her dark blue eyes promised 
to share his fortunes as his wife. 

<¢’’Twill be winter and spring,’’ said she, with a bitter, mock- 
ing laugh, ‘< Twill be winter and spring, but it matters not.”’ 

Many years before, when a boy of eighteen, Captain Ather- 
ton had loved, or fancied he loved, a young girl, whose very 
name afterward became hateful to him, and now, as he thought 
of Anna’s affection for Malcolm, he likened it to his own boy- 
ish fancy, believing she would soon get over it, and thank him 
for what he had done. 

That night Anna saw the moon and stars go down, bending 
far out from her window, that the damp air might cool her 
burning brow, and when the morning sun came up the eastern 
horizon, its first beams fell on the golden curls which streamed 
across the window-sill, her only pillow the livelong night. On 
"Lena’s mind a terrible conviction was fastening itself—Anna 
was crazed, She saw it in the wildness of her eye, in the tones 
of her voice, and more than all, in the readiness with which 
she yielded herself to her mother’s schemes. ‘But it shall 
not be,’’ she thought; ‘‘I will save her,’’ and then she knelt 
before her aunt, imploring her to spare her daughter—not to 
sacrifice her on the altar of memmon. 

But Mrs. Livingstone turned angrily away, telling her to 
mind her own affairs. Then ’Lena sought her cousin, and 
winding her arms around her neck, besought of her to resist— 
to burst the chain which bound her, and be free. But with a 
shake of her head, Anna bade her go away. ‘‘Leave me, 
"Lena Rivers,’’ she said, ‘‘leave me to work out my destiny. 
It is decreed that I shall be his wife, and I may not struggle 
against it. Each night I read it in the stars, and the wind, as 
it sighs through the maple trees, whispers it to my ear.”’ 

‘‘Oh, if my aunt could see her now,’’ thought ’Lena; but 
as if her mother’s presence had a paralyzing power, Anna 


ELENA RIVERS. 227 


when with her, was quiet, gentle, and silent, and if Mrs. Liv- 
ingstone sometimes missed her merry laugh and playful ways, 
she thought the air of dignity which seemed to have taken 
«<~~their place quite an improvement, and far more in keeping with 

. ~~ the bride-elect of Captain Atherton. 
— About this time Mr. Livingstone returned, appearing greatly 
‘surprised at the phase which affairs had assumed in his ab- 
_ “sence, but when ’Lena whispered to him her fears, he smilingly 
answered, “I reckon you’re mistaken. Her mother would 

* .. shave found it out—where is she ?”’ 

In her chamber at the old place by the open window they 
found her, and though she did not as usual spring eagerly for- 
ward to meet her father, her yreeting was wholly natural; but 
when Mr. Livingstone, taking. her upon his knee, said gently, 

a, They tell me you are to be married soon,’’ the wildness came 

back to her eye, and ’Lena wondered he could not see it. 

~-But he did not, and smoothing her disordered tresses, he said, 

c=«« Tell me, my ‘daughter, does this marriage please you ? Do 

“you enter into it willingly ?” 

j__\ For a moment there was a wavering, and ’Lena held her 

/~~breath to catch the answer, which came at last, while the eyes 

~ <>shone brighter than ever—‘‘ Willing? yes, or I should not do 
=~’: no one compels me, else I would resist.’’ 

‘¢Woman’s nature,’’ said Mr. Livingstone, laughingly, while 
...) Lena turned away to hide her tears. 
| Day after day preparations went on, for Mrs. Livingstone 
~ would have the ceremony a grand and imposing one. In the 

neighborhood, the fast approaching event was discussed, some 
. Beet canting it a most fortunate thing for Anna, who could 
not, of course, expect to make so eligible a match as her more 
brilliant sister, while others—the sensible portion—-wondered, 
pitied, and blamed, attributing the whole to the ambitious 
mother, whose agency in her son’s marriage was now generally 
known. At Maple Grove closets, chairs, tables, and sofas 
were loaded down with finery, and like an automaton, Anna 
stood up while they fitted to her the rich, white satin, scarcely 
whiter than her own face, and Mrs. Livingstone, when she saw 
her daughter’s indifference, would pinch her bloodless cheeks, 
wondering how she could care so little for her good fortune. 
Unnatural mother !—from the little grave on the sunny slope, 
now grass-grown and green, came there no warning voice te 
stay her in her purpose? No; she scarcely thought of Mabel 
now, and with unflinching determination she kept on her way. 





928 LENA RIVERS. 


But there was one who, night and day pondered in her mind 
the best way of saving Anna from the-living death to which 
she would surely awake, when it was too late. At last she re- 
solved on going herself to Captain Atherton, telling him just 
how it was, and if there was a spark of generosity in his na- 
ture, she thought he would release her cousin. But this plan 
required much caution, for she would not have her uncle’s 
family know of it, and if she failed, she preferred that it should 
be kept a secret from the world. There was then no alterna- 
tive but to go in the night, and alone. She did not now often 
sit with the family, and she knew they would not miss her. 
So, one evening when they were as usual assembled in the par- 
lor, she stole softly from the house, and managing to pass the 
negro quarters unobserved, she went down to the lower stable, 
where she saddled the pony she was now accustomed to ride, 
and leading him by a circuitous path out upon the turnpike, 
mounted and rode away. 

The night was moonless, and the starlight obscured by 
heavy clouds, but the pale face and golden curls of Anna, for 
whose sake she was there alone, gleamed on her in the dark- 
ness, and ’Lena was not afraid. Once—twice—she thought 
she caught the sound of another horse’s hoofs, but when she 
stopped to listen, all was still, and again she pressed forward, 
while her pursuer (for ’Lena was followed) kept at a greater 
distance. Durward had been to Frankfort, and on his way 
home had stopped at Maple Grove to deliver a package. Stop- 
ping only a moment, he reached the turnpike just after Lena 
struck into it. Thinking it was a servant, he was about to 
pass her, when her horse sheered at something on the roadside, 
and involuntarily she exclaimed, ‘‘ Courage, Dido, there’s 
nothing to fear.’’ 

Instantly he recognized her voice, and was about to overtake 
and speak to her, but thinking that her mission was a secret 
one, or she would not be there alone, he desisted. Still he 
sould not leave her thus. Her safety might be endangered, and 
reining in his steed, and accommodating his pace to hers, he 
followed without her knowledge. On she went until she 
reached the avenue leading to ‘‘ Sunnyside,’’ as Captain Ather- 
ton termed his residence, and there she stopped, going on foot 
to the house, while, hidden by the deep darkness, Durward 
waited and watched. 

Half timidly "Lena rang the door-bell, dropping her veil over 
her face that she might not be recognized. 


LENA RIVERS. 229 


**{ wane w See your master,’’ she said to uic woman whe 
answered her ring, and who in some astonishment replied, 
‘« Bless you, miss, Mas’r Atherton done gone to Lexington and 
won’t be home till to-morry.’’ 

‘¢Gone!”’ repeated *Lena, in a disappointed tone. ‘Oh, 
I’m so sorry.” 

‘‘TIs you the new miss what’s comin’ here to live?”’ asked 
the negro, who was Captain Atherton’s housekeeper. 

instantly the awkwardness of her position flashed upon ’Lena, 


“but resolving to put a bold face on the matter, she removed her 
\, veil, saying, playfully, ‘‘ You know me now, Aunt Martha.”’ 


*¢ In course I do,’’ answered the negro, holding up both hands 
in amazement, ‘‘ but what sent you here this dark, unairthly 


S\ night?” 


‘‘ Business with your master,’’ and then suddenly remember- 
ing that among her own race Aunt Martha was accounted an 


intolerable gossip, she began to wish she had not come. 


But it could not now be helped, and turning away, she 


walked slowly down the avenue, wondering what the result 
would be. Again they were in motion, she and Durward, who 
‘ followed until he saw her safe home, and then, glad that no 
/ one had seen her but himself, he retraced his steps, pondering 


on the mystery which he could not fathom. After "Lena left 
Sunnyside, a misty rain came on, and by the time she reached 
her home, her long riding-dress was wet and drizzled, the 


\, feathers on her cap were drooping, and to crown all, as she 
) was crossing the hall with stealthy step, she came suddenly upon 
’ her aunt, who, surprised at her appearance, demanded of her 


where she had been. But ’Lena refused to tell, and in quite a 
passion Mrs. Livingstone laid the case before her husband. 

‘‘Lena had been off that dark, rainy night, riding some- 
where with somebody, she wouldn't tell who, but she (Mrs. 
Livingstone) most knew it was Durward, and something must 
be done.”’ 

Accordingly, next day, when they chanced to be alone, Mr. 
Livingstone took the opportunity of questioning ’Lena, who 
dared not disobey him, and with many tears she confessed the 
whole, saying that ‘‘if it were wrong she was very sorry.”’ 

‘‘You acted foolishly, to say the least of it,’’ answered her 
uncle, adding, dryly, that he thought she troubled herself 
altogether too much about Anna, who seemed happy and con- 
tented. 

Still he was ill at ease. *Lena’s fears disturbed him, and for 


230 LENA RIVERS. 


many days he watched his daughter narrowly, admitting to 
himself that there was something strange about her. But pos- 
sibly all engaged girls acted so; his wife said they did; and 
hating anything like a scene, he concluded to let matters take 
their course, half hoping, and half believing, too, that some- 
thing would occur to prevent the marriage. What it would be, 
or by what agency it would be brought about, he didn’t know, 
but he resolved to let Lena alone, and when his wife insisted 
upon his ‘‘lecturing her soundly for meddling,’’ he refused, 
venturing even to say, that ‘she hadn’t meddled.”’ 

Meantime a new idea had entered ’Lena’s mind. She would 
write to Mr. Everett. There might yet be some mistake; she 
had read of such things in stories, and it could do no harm. 
Gradually as she wrote, hope grew strong within her, and it 
became impressed upon her that there had been some deep-laid, 
fiendish plot. If so, she dared not trust her letter with old 
Ceesar, who might be bribed by his mistress. And how to con- 
vey it to the office was now the grand difficulty. As if fortune 
favored her plan, Durward, that very afternoon, called at Maple 
Grove, being as he said, on his way to Frankfort. 

"Lena would have died rather than ask a favor of him for 
herself, but to save Anna she could do almost anything. Has- 
tily securing the letter, and throwing on her sunbonnet, she 
sauntered down the lawn and out upon the turnpike, where by 
the gate she awaited his coming. 

<¢’Tena—excuse me—Miss Rivers, is it you?’ asked Dur- 
ward, touching his hat, as in evident confusion she came for- 
ward, asking if she could trust him. 

“Trust meP Yes, with anything,’’ answered Durward, 
quickly dismounting, and forgetting everything save the bright, 
beautiful face which looked up to him so eagerly. 

‘‘'Then,’’ answered ’Lena, ‘‘take this letter and see it de- 
posited safely, will you?’”’ 

Glancing at the superscription, Durward felt his face crimson, 
while he instantly remembered what Mrs. Livingstone had once 
said concerning ’Lena’s attachment to Mr. Everett. 

«Sometime, perhaps, I will explain,” said Lena, observing 
the expression of his countenance, and then adding, with some 
bitterness, ‘‘I assure you there is no harm in it.”’ 

‘¢ Of course not,’’ answered Durward, again mounting his 
horse, and riding away more puzzled than ever, while ’Lena 
returned to the house, which everywhere gave tokens of the 
approaching nuptials. 








a 


LENA RIVERS. 231 


Already had several costly bridal gifts arrived, and among 
chem was a box from the captain, containing a set of diamonds, 


- which Mrs. Livingstone placed in her daughter’s waving hair, 
. bidding her mark their effect. But not a muscle of Anna’s face 
_) changed ; nothing moved her ; and with the utmost indifference 
. she gazed on the preparations around her. A stranger would 


have said ’Lena was the bride, for, with flushed cheeks and 
nervously anxious manner, she watched each sun as it rose and 


» sei, wondering what the result would be. Once, when asked 


whom she would have for her bridesmaid and groomsman, 
Anna had answered, ‘‘ Nellie and John !’’ but that could not 
be, for the latter had imposed upon himself the penance of 
waiting a whole year ere he spoke to Nellie of that which lay 
nearest his heart, and in order the better to keep his vow, he 
had gone from home, first winning from her the promise that 
she would not become engaged until his return. And now, 
when he learned of his sister’s request, he refused to come, say- 
ing, ‘‘if she would make such a consummate fool of herself, 
he did not wish to see her.” | 

So Carrie and Durward were substituted, and as this arrange- 
ment brought the latter occasionally to the house, ’Lena had 
opportunities of asking him if there had yet come any answer 
to her letter; and much oftener than he would otherwise have 
done, Durward went down to Frankfort, for he felt that it was 
no unimportant matter which thus deeply interested ’Lena. 
At last, the day before the bridal came, Durward had gone to 
the city, and in a state of great excitement ’Lena awaited his 
return, watching with a trembling heart as the sun went down 
behind the western hills. Slowly the hours dragged on, and 
many a time she stole out in the deep darkness to listen, but 
there was nothing to be heard save the distant cry of the night- 
owl, and she was about retracing her steps for the fifth time, 
when from behind a clump of rosebushes started a little dusky 
form, which whispered softly, ‘‘Is you Miss ’Leny?”’ 

Repressing the scream which came near escaping her lips, 
"Lena answered, ‘‘ Yes; what do you want?’’ while at the 
same moment she recognized a little hunch back belonging to 
General Fontaine. 

es Marster Everett tell me to fotch you this, and wait for the 
answer,’’ said the boy, passing her a tiny note. 

“Master Everett ! Is he here?’ she exclaimed, catching 
the note and reéntering the house, where by the hght "of the hal] 
lamp she read what he had written. 


232 LENA RIVERS, 


It was very snort, but it told all—how he had written again 
and again, receiving no answer, and was about coming himself 
when a severe illness prevented. The marriage, he said, was 
that of his uncle, for whom he was named, and who had in 
truth gone on to Washington, the home of his second wife. It 
closed by asking her to meet him, with Anna, on one of the 
arbor bridges at midnight. Hastily tearing a blank leaf from a 
book which chanced to be lying in the hall, ’Lena wrote, ‘‘ We 
will be there,’’ and giving it to the negro, bade him hasten back. 

There was no longer need to wait for Durward, who, if he 
got no letter, was not to call, and trembling in every nerve, 
Lena sought her chamber, there to consider what she was next 
to do. For some time past Carrie had occupied a separate 
room from Anna, who, she said disturbed her with her late 
hours and restless turnings, so’Lena’s part seemed compar- 
atively easy. Waiting until the house was still, she entered 
Anna’s room, finding her, as she had expected, at her old place 
by the open window, her head resting upon the sill, and when 
she approached nearer, she saw that she was asleep. 

‘¢ Let her sleep yet awhile,’’ said she ; ‘it will do her good.” 

In the room adjoining lay the bridal dress, and ’Lena’s first 
impulse was to trample it under her feet, but passing it with a 
shudder, she hastily collected whatever she thought Anna would 
most need. . These she placed in a small-sized trunk, and then 
knowing it was done, she approached her cousin, who seemed 
to be dreaming, for she murmured the name of ‘‘ Malcolm.” 

*¢ He is here, love—he has come to save you,’’ she whispered, 
while Anna, only partially aroused, gazed at her so vacantly, 
that ’Lena’s heart stood still with fear lest the poor girl’s reason 
were wholly gone. ‘‘Anna, Anna,’’ she said, ‘‘awake ; Mal- 
colm is here—in the garden, where you must meet him— 
come.”’ 

‘¢ Malcolm is married,’’ said Anna, in a whisper—‘‘ married 
-—and my bridal dress is in there, all looped with flowers ; 
would you like to see it?” 

‘‘OQur Father in heaven help me,”’ cried ’Lena, clasping her 
hands in anguish, while her tears fell like rain on Anna’s up- 
turned face. 

This seemed to arouse her, for in a natural tone she asked 
why ’Lena wept. Again and again ’Lena repeated to her that 
Malcolm had come—that he was not married—that he had 
come for her; and as Anna listened, the torpor slowly passed 
away—the wild light in her eyes grew less bright, for it was 


2 


- 





eo PT 


LENA RIVERS. 25d 


quenched by the first tears sne had shed since the shadow fell 
upon her; and when ’Lena produced the note, and she saw it 
was indeed true, the ice about her heart was melted, and in 
choking, long-drawn sobs, her pent-up feelings gave way, as 
she saw the gulf whose verge she had been treading. Crouch- 
ing at ’Lena’s feet, she kissed the very hem of her garments, 
blessing her as her preserver, and praying heaven to bless her, 
also. it was the work of a few moments to array her in her 
traveling dress, and then very cautiously ’Lena led her down 
the stirs, and out into the open air. 

«‘If I could see father once,’’ said Anna; but such an act 


“involved too much danger, and with one lingering, tearful look 


at her old home, she moved away, supported by ’Lena, who 
rather dragged than led her over the graveled walk. 

As they approached the arbor bridge, they saw the glimmer- 
ing light of a lantern, for the night was intensely dark, and in 
a moment Anna was clasped in the arms which henceforth 
were to shelter her from the storms of life. Helpless as an in- 
fant she lay, while "Lena, motioning the negro who was in at- 
tendance to follow her, returned to the house for the trunk, 
which was soon safely deposited in the carriage at the gate. 

‘¢ Words cannot express what I owe you,’’ said Malcolm, 
when he gave her his hand at parting, ‘‘ but of this be assured, 
so long as I live you have in me a friend and _ brother.” 
Turning back for a moment, he added, * This flight is, I know, 
unnecessary, for I could prevent to-morrow’s expected event in 
other ways than this, but revenge is sweet, and I trust I am ex- 
cusable fcr taking it in my own way.”’ 

Anna could not speak, but the look of deep gratitude which 
beamed from her eyes was far more eloquent than words. 
Upon the broad piazza ’Lena stood until the last faint sound 
of the carriage wheels died away; then, weary and worn, she 
sought her room, locking Anna’s door as she passed it, and 
placing the key in her pocket. Softly she crept to bed by the 
side of her slumbering grandmother, and with a fervent prayer 
for the safety of the fugitives, fell asleep. 


934 LENA RIVERS 


CHAPTER XXX. 
THE RESULT. 


THE toud ringing of the breakfast-bell aroused "Lena from 
her heavy slumber, and with a vague consciousness of what 
had transpired the night previous, she at first turned wearily 
upon her pillow, wishing it were not morning; but soon re- 
membering all, she sprang up, and after a hasty toilet, de- 
scended to the breakfast-room, where another chair was vacant, 
another face was missing. Without any suspicion of the truth, 
Mrs. Livingstone spoke of Anna’s absence, saying she pre- 
sumed the poor girl was tired and sleepy, and this was admit- 
ted as an excuse for her tardiness. But when breakfast was 
over and she still did not appear, Corinda was sent to call her, 
returning soon with the information that ‘‘she’d knocked and 
knocked, but Miss Anna would not answer, and when she tried 
the door she found it iocked.”’ , 

Involuntarily Mr. Livingstone glanced at ’Lena, whose face 
wore a scarlet hue as she hastily quitted the table. Witha 
presentiment of something, he himself started for Anna’s room, 
followed by his wife and Carrie, while ’Lena, half-way up the 
stairs, listened breathlessly for the result. It was useless knock- 
ing for admittance, for there was no one within to bid them 
enter, and with a powerful effort Mr. Livingstone burst the lock. 
The window was open, the lamp was still burning, emitting a 
faint, sickly oder; the bed was undisturbed, the room in con- 
fusion, and Anna was gone. Mrs. Livingstone’s eye took in all 
this at a glance, but her husband saw only the latter, and ere 
he was aware of what he did, a fervent ‘‘ Thank heaven,’’ es- 
caped him. 

««She’s gone—run away—dead, maybe,’’ exclaimed Mrs. 
Livingstone, wringing her hands in unfeigned distress, and in- 
stinctively drawing nearer to her husband for comfort. 

By this time ’Lena had ventured into the room, and turning 
toward her, Mr. Livingstone said, very gently, ‘* Lena, where 
is our child ?”’ 

‘‘In Ohio, I dare say, by this time, as she took the night 


aes ae + 
4 he ae 
¢ ss 


LENA RIVERS. Y3B5 


train at Midway for Cincinnati,’ said "Lena, thinking she 
might as well tell the whole at once. 

‘‘In Ohio!’’ shrieked Mrs. Livingstone, fiercely grasping 
*Lena’s arm. ‘‘What has she gone to Ohio for? Speak, in- 
grate, for you have done the deed—I am sure of that!’’ 

‘It was Mr. Everett’s wish to return home that way, I be- 
Jieve,”” coolly answered ’Lena, without quailing in the least 


‘frou: the eyes bent so angrily upon her. 


Instantly Mrs. Livingstone’s fingers loosened their grasp, 
~vhile her face grew livid with mingled passion and fear. Her 
fraud was discovered—her stratagem had failed—and she was 
foiled in this, her second darling scheme. But she was yet to 
learn what agency ’Lena had in the matter, and this informa- 
tion her husband obtained for her. ‘There was no anger in the 
tones of his voice when he asked his niece to explain the mys- 
tery, else she might not have answered, for ’Lena could not be 
driven. Now, however, she felt that he had a right to know, 
and she told him all she knew; what she had done herself and 
why she had done it; that General Fontaine, to whom Mal- 
colm had gone in his trouble, had kindly assisted him by lend- 
ing both servants and carriage; but upon the intercepted let- 
ters she could throw no light. 

<<’Twas a cursed act, and whoever was guilty of it is un- 
worthy the name of either man or woman,”’ said Mr. Living- 
stone, while his eye rested sternly upon his wife. 

She knew that he suspected her, but he had no proof, and 
resolving to make the best of the matter, she, too, united with 
him in denouncing the deed, wondering who could have done 
it, and meanly suggesting Maria Fontaine, a pupil of Mr. 
Fiverett’s, who had, at one time, felt a slight preference for 
him. But this did not deceive her husband—neither did it 
help her at all in the present emergency. ‘The bride was gone, 
and already she felt the tide of scandal and gossip which she 
knew would be the theme of the entire neighborhood. Still, 
if her own shameful act was kept a secret, she could bear it, 
and it must be. No one knew of it except Captain Atherton 
and Cesar, the former of whom would keep his own counsel, 
while fear of a passport down the river, the negroes’ dread, 
would prevent the latter from telling. 

Accordingly, her chagrin was concealed, and affecting to 
treat the whole matter as a capital joke, worthy of being im- 
mortalized in romance, she returned to her room, and hastily 
writing a few lines, rang the bell for Caesar who soon appeared, 


936 LENA RIVERS. 


declaring that ** as true as he lived and breathed and drew the 
breath of life, he’d done gin miss every single letter afore 
handin’ ’em to anybody else.’’ 

«¢ Shut your mouth and mind you keep it shut, or you'll find 
yourself in New Orleans,’’ was Mrs. Livingstone’s very lady- 
like response, as she handed him the note, bidding him take it 
to Captain Atherton. 

For some reason or other the captain this morning was ex- 
ceedingly restless, walking from room to room, watching the 
clock, then the sun, and finally, in order to pass the time away, 
trying on his wedding suit, to sée how he was going to look ! 
Perfectly satisfied with his appearance, he was in imagination 
going through the ceremony, and had just inclined his head in 
token that he would take Anna for his wife, when Mrs. Living- 
stone’s note was handed him. At first he could hardly believe 
the evidence of his own eyes. Anna gone !—run away with 
Mr. Everett! It could not be, and sinking into a chair, he 
felt, as he afterward expressed it, ‘‘ mighty queer and shaky.’ 

But Mrs. Livingstone had advised him to put a bold face on 
it, and this, upon second thought, he determined todo. Has- 
tily changing his dress, now useless, he mounted his steed, and 
was soon on his way toward Maple Grove, a new idea dawning 
upon his mind, and, ere his arrival, settling itself into a fixed 
purpose. From Aunt Martha he had heard of ’Lena’s strange 
visit, and he now remembered the many times she had tried te 
withdraw him from Anna, appropriating him to herself for 
hours. The captain’s vanity was wonderful. Sunnyside needed 
a mistress—he needed a wife. ’Lena was poor—perhaps she 
liked him—and if so, there might be a wedding, after all. She 
was beautiful, and would sustain the honors of his house with a 
better grace, he verily believed, than Anna! Full of these 
thoughts, he reached Maple Grove, where he found Durward, 
to whom Mrs. Livingstone had detailed the whole circum- 
stance, dwelling long upon ’Lena’s meddling propensities, and 
charging the whole affair upon her. B 

‘But she knew what she was about—she had an object in 
view, undoubtedly,’’ she added, glad of an opportunity to give 
vent to her feelings against ’Lena. 

‘¢ Pray, what was her object?’’ asked Durward, and Mrs. 
Livingstone replied, ‘‘I told you once that "Lena was ambi- 
tious, and I have every reason to believe she would willingly 
marry Captain Atherton, notwithstanding he is so much older.”’ 

She forgot that there was the same disparity between the 


LENA RIVERS. 987 


captain and Anna as between him and ’Lena, but Durward did 
not, and with a derisive smile he listened, while she proceeded 
to give her reasons for thinking that a desire to supplant Anna 
was the sole object which ’Lena had in view, for what else 
could have prompted that midnight ride to Sunnyside. Again 
Durward smiled, but before he could answer, the bridegroom 
elect stood before them, looking rather crestfallen, but evidently 
making a great effort to appear as usual. 

‘¢And so the bird has flown?’’ said he. ‘* Well, it takes a 
Vankee, after all, to manage a case, but how did he find it 
out?” 

Briefly Mrs. Livingstone explained to him ’Lena’s agency in 
the matter, omitting, this time, to impute to her the same mo- 
tive which she had done when stating the case to Durward. 

‘‘So ’Lena is at the bottom of it?’’ said he, rubbing his 
little fat, red hands. ‘* Well, well, where is she? I'd like to 
see her.’’ 

‘‘ Corinda, tell ’Lena she is wanted in the parlor,’’ said Mrs. 
Livingstone, while Durward, not wishing to witness the inter- 
view, arose to go, but Mrs. Livingstone urged him so hard to 
stay, that he at last resumed his seat on the sofa by the side of 
Carrie. 

‘‘ Captain Atherton wishes to question you concerning the 
part you have taken in this elopement,’’ said Mrs. Livingstone, 
sternly, as "Lena appeared in the doorway. 

‘‘No, I don’t,”’ said the captain, gallantly offering "Lena a 
chair. ‘‘My business with Miss Rivers concerns herself.’’ 

‘*] am here, sir, to answer any proper question,’ said ’Lena, 
proudly, at the same time declining the proffered seat. 

«‘There’s an air worthy of a queen,’’ thought the captain, 
and determining to make his business known at once, he arose, 
and turning toward Mrs. Livingstone, Durward and Carrie, 
whom he considered his audience, he commenced: ‘¢ What I 
am about to say may seem strange, but the fact is, I want a 
wife. I’ve lived alone long enough. I waited for Anna eigh- 
teen years, and now’s she gone. Everything is in readiness 
for the bridal; the guests are invited ; nothing wanting but the 
bride. Now if I cou/d find a substitute.’’ 

‘¢ Not in mé,’”’ muttered Carrie, drawing nearer to Durward, 
while with a sarcastic leer the captain continued: ‘‘ Don’t re- 
fuse before you are asked, Miss Livingstone. I do not aspire 
to the honor of your hand, but I a ask Miss Rivers to be my 
wife—-here before you all. She shall live like a princess-~she 


238 - LENA RIVERS. 


and her grandmother both. Come, what do you say? Many 
a poor girl would jump at the chance.’”” ~ 

The rich blood which usually dyed ’Lena’s cheek was gone, 
and pale as the marble mantel against which she leaned, she 
answered, proudly, ‘‘I would sooner die than link my destiny 
with one who could so basely deceive my cousin, making her 
believe it was her betrothed husband whom he saw in Wash- 
ington instead of his uncle! Jarry you? Never, if 1 beg 
my bread from door to door !”’ 

‘‘ Noble girl !’’ came involuntarily from the lips of Durward, 
who had held his breath for her answer, and who now glanced 
triumphantly at Mrs. Livingstone, whose surmises were thus 
proved incorrect. 

The captain’s self-pride was touched, that a poor, humble 
girl should refuse him with his half million. A sense of the 
ridiculous position in which he was placed maddened him, and 
in a violent rage he replied, ‘‘ You won’t, hey? What under 
heavens have you hung around me so for, sticking yourself in 
between me and Anna when you knew you were not wanted P”’ 

“‘¥ did it, sir, at Anna’s request, to relieve her—and for 
aothing else.’’ | ‘ 

<‘And was it at her request that you went alone to Sunny- 
side on that dark, rainy night?’’ chimed in Mrs. Livingstone. 

‘No, madam,”’ said ’Lena, turning toward her aunt. ‘1 
had in vain implored of you to save her from a marriage every 
way irksome to her, when in her right mind, but you would not 
listen, and I resolved to appeal to the captain’s better nature. 
In this I failed, and then I wrote to Mr. Everett, with the re- 
sult which you see.’’ 

In her first excitement Mrs. Livingstone had forgotten to ask 
who was the bearer of ’Lena’s letter, but remembering it now, 
she put the question. ’Lena would not implicate Durward 
without his permission, but while she hesitated, he answered 
for her, “<7 carried that letter, Mrs. Livingstone, though I did 
not then know its nature. Still if I had, I shouid have done 
the same, and the event has proved that I was right in so do- 
in Re 
‘¢ Ah, indeed !’’ said the captain, growing more and more 
nettled and disagreeable. ‘Ah, indeed! Mr. Bellmont leagued 
with Miss Rivers against me. Perhaps she would not so bluntly 
refuse an offer coming from you, but I can tell you it won’t 
sound very well that the Hon. Mrs. Bellmont once rode four 
miles alene in the night to visit a bachelor. Ha! ha! Miss 





LENA RIVERS, 239 


"Lena ; better have submitted to my terms at once, for don’t 
you see I have you in my power?” 

‘And if you ever use that power to her disadvantage you 
answer for it to mé; do you understand?’’ exclaimed Dur- 
ward, starting up and confronting Captain Atherton, who, the 
veriest coward in the world, shrank from the flashing of Dur- 
ward’s eye, and meekly answered, ‘‘ Yes, yes—yes, yes, I won’t, 
1 won’t. I don’t want to fight. Ilike "Lena. I don’t blame 
Anna for running away if she didn’t want me—but it’s left me 
in a deuced mean scrape, which I wish you’d help me out of.’’ 

Durward saw that the captain was in earnest, and taking his 
proffered hand, promised to render him any assistance in his 
power, and advising him to be present himself in the evening, 
as the first meeting with his acquaintances would thus be over. 


_ Upon reflection, the captain concluded to follow this advice, 


and when evening arrived and w*tk it those who had not heard 
the news, he was in attendance, together witn Durward, who 
managed the whole affair so skilfully that the party passed off 
quite pleasantly, the disappointed guests playfully condoling 
with the deserted bridegroom, who received their jokes with a 
good grace, wishing himself, meantime, anywhere but there. 

That night, when the company were gone and all around was 
silent, Mrs. Livingstone watered her pillow with the first tears 
she had shed for her youngest born, whom she well knew she 
had driven from home, and when her husband asked what they 
should do, she answered with a fresh burst of tears, <‘Send for 
Anna to come back.”’ 

*«“And Malcolm, too?’’ queried Mr. Livingstone, knowing 
it was useless to send for one without the other. 

«‘VYes, Malcolm too. There’s room for both,’’ said the 
weeping mother, feeling how every hour she should miss the 
little girl, whose presence had in it so much of sunlight and 
joy. 

But Anna would not return. Away to the northward, in a 


| fairy cottage overhung with the wreathing honeysuckle and the 


twining grapevine, where the first summer flowers were bloom- 
ing and the song-birds were caroling all the day long, her home 
was henceforth to be, and though the letter which contained 
her answer to her father’s earnest appeal was stained and 
biotted, it told of perfect happiness with Malcolm, who kissed 
away her tears as she wrote, “ ‘Tell mother I cannot come.” 


240 LENA RIVERS. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 
MORE CLOUDS, 


SincE the morning when Durward had so boldly avowed 
himself ’Lena’s champion, her health and spirits began to im- 
prove. That she was not wholly indifferent to him she’ had 
every reason to believe, and notwithstanding the strong barrier 
between them, hope sometimes whispered to her of a future, 
when all that was now so dark and mysterious should be made 
plain. But while she was thus securely dreaming, a cloud, 
darker and deeper than any which had yet overshadowed her, 
was gathering around her pathway. Gradually had the story 
of her ride to Captain Atherton’s gained circulation, magnify- 
ing itself as it went, until at last it was currently reported that 
at several different times had she been seen riding away from 
Sunnyside at unseasonable hours of the night, the time varying 
from nine in the evening to three in the morning according to 
the exaggerating powers of the informer. 

But few believed it, and yet such is human nature, that each 
and every one repeated it to his or her neighbor, until at last it 
reached Mrs. Graham, who, forgetting the caution of her son, 
said, with a very wise look, that ‘‘ she was not at all surprised 
—she had from the first suspected "Lena, and she had the’ best 
of reasons for so doing !”’ 

Of course Mrs. Graham’s friend was exceedingly anxious to 
know what she meant, and by dint of quizzing, questiohing and 
promising never to tell, she at last drew out just enough of the 
story to know that Mr. Graham had a daguerreotype which 
looked just like "Lena, and that Mrs. Graham had no doubt 
whatever that she was in the habit of writing to him. This of 
course was repeated, notwithstanding the promise of secrecy, 
and many of the neighbors suddenly remembered some little 
circumstance trivial in itself, but all going to swell the amount 
of evidence against poor ‘Lena, who, unconscious of the gath- 
ering storm, did not for a time observe the sidelong glances 
cast toward her whenever she appeared in public. 

Erelong, however, the cool nods and distant manners of her 
acquaintances began to attract her attention, causing her te 





LEY -. RIVERS. 241 


wonder what it all meant. But there was no one of whom she 
would ask an explanation. John Jr. was gone—Anna was 
gone—and to crown all, Durward, too, left the neighborhood 
just as the first breath of scandal was beginning to set the 
waves of gossip in motion. in his absence, Mrs. Graham felt 
no restraint, whatever, and all that she knew, together with 
many things she didn’t know, she told, until it became a matter 
of serious debate whether "Lena ought not to be ¢cw/ entirely. 
Mrs. Graham and her clique decided in the affirmative, and 
when Mrs. Fontaine, who was a weak woman, wholly governed 
by public opinion, gave a small party for her daughter Maria, 
"Lena was purposely omitted. Hitherto she had been greatiy 
petted and admired by both Maria and her mother, and she feit 
the slight sensibly, the more so, as Carrie darkly hinted that 
girls who could not behave themselves must not associate with 
respectable people. ‘‘’Leny not invited !’’ said Mrs. Nichols, 
espousing the cause of her granddaughter. <‘‘ What’s to pay, I 
wonder? Miss Fontaine and the gineral, too, allus appeared 
to think a sight on her.’’ 

‘*T presume the general does now,’’ answered Mrs. Living- 
stone, “‘ but it’s natural that Mrs. Fontaine should feel particu- 
iar about the reputation of her daughter’s associates.’’ 

«‘And ain’t ’Leny’s reputation as good as the best on ’em,”’ 
asked Mrs. Nichols, her shriveled cheeks glowing with insulted 

ride. 

‘¢Tt’s the general opinion that it might be improved,’’ was 
Mrs. Livingstone’s haughty answer, as she left her mother-in- 
law to her own reflections. 

«*Tt’l] kill her stone dead,’’ thought Mrs. Nichols, revolving 
in her own mind the propriety of telling ’Lena what her aunt 
had said. ‘‘It’ll kill her stone dead, and I can’t tell ner. 
Mebby it’ll blow over pretty soon.”’ 

That afternoon several ladies, who were in the habit of call- 
ing upon ’Lena, came to Maple Grove, but not one asked for 
her, and with her eyes and ears now sharpened, she fancied 
that once, as she was passing the parlor door, she heard her 
own name coupled with that of Mr. Graham. A startling light 
burst upon her, and staggering to her room, she threw herseii, 
half fainting, upon the bed, where an hour afterward she was 
found by Aunt Miily. 

The old negress had also heard the story in its most aggra- 
vated form, and readily divining the cause of ’Lena’s grief, at- 
tempted to console her, telling her ‘‘not to mind what the 


B4Yy LENA BIVERS. 


good-for-nothin’ critters said; they war only mad ’cause sh, - 
so much handsomer and trimmer built.”’ 

‘‘ You know, then,’’ said ’Lena, lifting her head from the 
pillow. <‘‘ You know what it is; so tell me, for I shall die if J 
remain longer in suspense.’’ 

<* Lor’ bless the child,’’ exclaimed old Milly, ‘‘to think she’s 
the very last one to know, when it’s been common talk more 
than a month!” 

<‘What’s been common talk? What is it?’’ demanded 
‘Lena; and old Milly, seating herself upon a trunk, com- 
menced: ‘‘ Why, honey, hain’t you hearn how you done got 
Mr. Graham’s pictur and gin him yourn ’long of one of them 
curls—how he’s writ and you’ve writ, and how he’s gone off to 
the eends of the airth to get rid on you—and how you try to 
cotch young Mas’r Durward, who hate the sight on you—how 
you waylay him one day, settin’ on a rock out by the big gate 
—and how you been seen mighty nigh fifty times comin’ home 
afoot from Captain Atherton’s in the night, rainin’ thunder and 
lightnin’ hard as it could pour—how after you done got Miss 
Anna to lope, you ax Captain Atherton to have you, and git 
mad as fury ’cause he ’fuses—and how your mother warn’t 
none too likely, and a heap more that I can’t remember— 
hain’t you heard of none on’t?”’ pe 

‘¢None, none,’’ answered ’Lena, while Milly continued, 
‘‘¥t’s a sin and shame for quality folks that belong to the 
meetin’ to pitch into a poor ’fenseless girl and pick her all to 
pieces. Reckon they done forgot what our Heabenly Marster 
told ’em when he lived here in old Kentuck, how they must 
dig the truck out of thar own eyes afore they go to meddlin’ 
with others; but they never think of him these days, ’cept 
Sundays, and then as soon as meetin’ is out they done git to- 
gether and talk about you and Mas’r Graham orfully. I hear 
"em last Sunday, I and Miss Fontaine’s cook, Cilly, and if they 
don’t quit it, thar’s a heap on us goin’ to leave the church !”’ 

"Lena smiled in spite of herself, and when Milly, who arose 
to leave the room, again told her not to care, as all the blacks 
were for her, she felt that she was not utterly alone in her wretch- 
edness. Still, the sympathy of the colored people alone could 
not help her, and daily matters grew worse, until at last even 
Nellie Douglass’s faith was shaken, and ’Lena’s heart died 
within her as she saw in her signs of neglect. Never had Mr. 
Livingstone exchanged a word with her upon the subject, but 
the reserve with which he treated her plainly indicated that he, 


> 


ENA RIVERS. 943 


#0, was prejudiced, while her aunt and Carrie let no oppor- 
tunity pass of slighting her, the latter invariably leaving the 
room if she entered it. On one such occasion, in a state 
bordering almost on distraction, "Lena flew back to her own 
chamber, where, to her great surprise, she found her uncle in 
close conversation with her grandmother, whose face told the 
pain his words were inflicting. ’Lena’s first impulse was to fall 
at his feet and implore his protection, but he prevented her by 
immediately leaving the room. 

‘¢Oh, grandmother, grandmother,’’ she cried, ‘‘help me, or 
{ shall die.”’ 

In her heart irs. Nichols believed her guilty, for Joh had 
éaid so—he would not lie; and to ’Lena’s touching appeal for 
sympathy, she replied, as she rocked to and fro, ‘‘I wish you 
had died, ’Leny, years and years ago.”’ 

*Twas the last drop in the brimming bucket, and with the 
wailing cry, ‘‘God help me now—no one else can,”’ the heart- 
broken girl fell fainting to the floor, while in silent agony Mrs. 
Nichols hung over her, shouting for help. 

Both Mrs. Livingstone and Carrie refused to come, but at the 
first call Aunt Milly hastened to the room. ‘‘ Poor sheared 
lamb,” said she, gathering back the thick, clustering curls 
which shaded ’Lena’s marble face, ‘‘she’s innocent as the new- 
born baby.” ” 

‘¢Oh, if I could think so,’’ said grandma; but she could 
not, and when the soft brown eyes again unclosed, and eageriy 
sought hers, they read distrust and doubt, and motioning her 
grandmother away, ’Lena said she would rather be alone. 

Many and bitter were the thoughts which crowded upon her 
as she lay there watching the daylight fade from the distant 
hills, and musing of the stern realities around her. Gradually 
her thoughts assumed a definite purpose; she would go away 
from a place where she was never wanted, and where she now 
no longer wished to stay. Mr. Everett had promised to be her 
friend, and to him she would go. At different intervals her 
uncle and cousin had given her money to the amount of twenty 
dollars, which was still in her possession, and which she knew 
would take her far on her road. 

With ’Lena to resolve was to do, and that night, when sure 
her grandmother was asleep, she arose and hurriedly made the 
needful preparations for her flight. Unlike most aged people, 
Mrs. Nichols slept soundly, and ’Lena had no fears of waking 
ker. Very stealthily she moved around the room, placing in a 





244 LENA RIVERS. 


satchel, which she could carry upot: ner arm, the few thinge 
she would need. Then, sitting down by the table, she wrote: 


‘¢DrearR GRANDMA: When you read this [ shall be gone, for 
I cannot longer stay where all look upon me as a wretched, 
guilty thing. I am innocent, grandma, as innocent as my 
angel mother when they dared to slander her, but you do not 
believe it, and that is the hardest of all. I could have borne 
the rest, but when you, too, doubted me, it broke my heart, 
and now 1 am going away. Nobody will care—nobody will 
miss me but you. 

‘*And now dear, dear grandma, it costs me more pain to 
write than it will you to read 

s¢"LENA’S LAST GOOD-BYE.” 


All was at length ready, and then bending gently over the 
wrinkled face so calmly sleeping, ’Lena gazed through blinding 
tears upon each lineament, striving to imprint it upon her 
heart’s memory, and wondering if they would ever meet again. 
The hand which had so often rested caressingly upon her young 
head, was lying outside the counterpane, and with one burning 
kiss upon it she turned away, first’placing the lamp by the win- 
dow, where its light, shining upon her from afar, would be the 


_ last thingsshe could see of the home she was leaving. 


The road to Midway, the nearest railway station, was well 


' Known to her, and without once pausing, lest her» courage 


should fail her, she pressed forward. ‘The distance which she 
fad to travel was about three and a half miles, and as she did 
aot dare trust herself in the highway, she struck into the fields, 
iooking back as long as the glimmering light from the window 


could be seen, and then when that home star had disappeared 


from view, silently imploring aid from Him who alone could 
help her now. She was in time for the cars, and though the 
depot agent looked curiously at her slight, shrinking figure, he 
asked no questions, and when the train moved rapidly away, 

Lena looked out upon the dark, still night, and felt that she 
was a wanderer in ‘the world. 





LENA RIVERS. 945 


CHAPTER XXXII. 
REACTION. 


THE light of a dark, cloudy morning shone faintly in at the 
window of Grandma Nichols’ room, and roused her from her 
slumber. On the pillow beside her rested no youthful head— 
there was no kind voice bidding her ‘‘ good-morrow ’’—-no gen- 
tle hand ministering to her comfort—for ’Lena was gone, and 
on the table lay the note, which at first escaped Mrs. Nichols’ 
attention. ‘Thinking her granddaughter had arisen early and 
gone before her, she attempted to make her own toilet, which 
was nearly completed, when her eye caught the note. It was 
directed to her, and with a dim foreboding she took it up, read- 
ing that her child was gone—gone from those who should have 
sustained her in her hour of trial, but who, instead, turned 


=~ against her, crushing her down, until in a state of desperation 


she had fled. It was in vain that the breakfast-bell rang out 
its loud summons. Grandma did not heed it; and when Co- 
rinda came up to seek her, she started back in affright at the 
scene before her. Mrs. Nichols’ cap was not yet on, and her 
thin grey locks fell around her livid face as she swayed from 
side to side, moaning at intervals, “‘God forgive me that I 
broke her heart.’’ 

The sound of the opening door aroused her, and looking up 
she said, pointing toward the vacant bed, ‘‘ Leny’s gone; I’ve 
killed her.”’ 

Corinda waited for no more, but darting through the hall and 
down the stairs, she rushed into the dining-room, announcing 
the startling news that ‘‘old miss had done murdered Miss 

*Lena, and hid her under the bed !”’ 
‘¢What zwz/7 come next!’’ exclaimed Mrs. Livingstone, fol- 


lowing her husband to his mother’s room, where a moment suf- . 


ficed to explain the whole. __ 
Lena was gone, and the shock had for a time unsettled’ the 


poor old lady’s reason. The sight of his mother’s distress ¢ 


aroused all the better nature of Mr. Livingstone, and tenderly 


soothing her, he told her that "Lena should be found—he would > 


go for her himself. Carrie, too, was touched, and with un- 


i 


Pah 


aa 


jag 


8 ge 
a 
er Re 


eS 
+ 


246 LENA RIVEBS. 


wonted kiadness she gathered up the scattered locks, and tying 
on the muslin cap, placed her hand for an instant on the wrin- 
kled brow. 

‘‘Keep it there; it feels soft, like Leny’s,’’ said Mrs. Nich- 
ols, the tears gushing out at this little act of sympathy. 

Meantime, Mr. Livingstone, after a short consultation with 
his wife, hurried off to the neighbors, none of whom knew 
aught of the fugitive, and all of whom offered their assistance 
in searching. Never cnce did it occur to Mr. Livingstone that 
she might have taken the cars, for that he knew would need 
money, and he supposed she had none in her possession. By 
a strange coincidence, too, the depot agent who sold her the 
ticket, left the very next morning for Indiana, where he had 
been intending to go for some time, and where he remained for 
more than a week, thus preventing the information which he 
could otherwise have given concerning her flight. Conse- 
quently, Mr. Livingstone returned each night, weary and dis- 
heartened, to his home, where all the day long his mother 
moaned and wept, asking for her "Lena. 

At last, as day after day went by and brought no tidings of 
the wanderer, she ceased to ask for her, but whenever a stranger 
came to the house, she would whisper softly to them, ‘‘’Leny’s 
dead, I killed her; did you know it?’’ at the same time passing 
to them the crumpled note, which she ever held in her hand. . 

"Lena was a general favorite in the neighborhood which had 
so recently denounced her, and when it became known that she 
was gone, there came a reaction, and those who had been the 
most bitter against her now changed their opinion, wondering 
how they could ever have thought her guilty. The stories con- 


cerning her visits to Captain Atherton’s were traced back to 
their source, resulting in exonerating her from all blame, while 


many things, hitherto kept secret, concerning Anna’s engage- 
ment, were brought to light, and ’Lena was universally com- 


‘mended for her efforts to save her cousin from a marriage so 


wholly unnatural. Severely was the captain censured for the 
part he had taken in deceiving Anna, a part which he frankly 
confessed, while he openly espoused the cause of the fugitive. 

Mrs. Livingstone, on the contrary, was not generous enough 
to make a like confession. Public suspicion pointed to her’as 
the intercepter of Anna’s letters, and though sh He did not deny it, 
she wondered what.that had to do with ’Lena, at the same time 
asking ‘‘ how they expected to clear up the Graham affair. am 

_ This was comparatively easy, for in the present state of jac 


“er 


we 


he 


LENA RIVERS. 947 


ing the neighborhood were willing to uverlook many things 
which had before seemed dark and mysterious, while Mrs. Gra- 
ham, for some most unaccountable reason, suddenly retracted 
almost everything she had said, acknowledging that she was too 
hasty in her conclusions, and evincing for the missing girl a de- 
gree of interest perfectly surprising to Mrs. Livingstone, who 
looked on in utter astonishment, wondering what the end would 
be. About this time Durward returned, greatly pained at the 
existing state of things. In Frankfort, where’ Lena’s flight was 
a topic of discussion, he had met with the depot agent, whe 
was on his way home, and who spoke of the young girl whose 
rather singular manner had attracted his attention. This was 
undoubtedly ’Lena, and after a few moments’ conversation with 
his mother, Durward announced his intention of going after 
her, at least as far as Rockford, where he fancied she might 
have gone. 

To his surprise his mother made no objection, but her man- 
ner seemed so strange that he at last asked what was the matter. 

*¢ Nothing—nothing in particular,’”’ said she, ‘“‘only I’ve 
been thinking it all over iately, and I’ve come to the conclu- 
sion that perhaps ’Lena is innocent after all.’ 

Oh, how eagerly Durward caught at her words, interrupting 
her almost before she had finished speaking, with, ** Do you 
know anything? Have you heard anything?” 

She had heard—she add know ; but ere she could reply, the 
violent ringing of the door-bell, and the arrival of visitors, pre- 
vented her answer. Ina perfect fever of excitement Durward 
glanced at his watch. If he waited long, he would be too late 
for the cars, and with a hasty adieu he left the parlor, turnmg 
back ere he reached the outer door, and telling his mother he 
must speak with her alone. If Mrs. Graham had at first in- 
tended to divulge what she knew, the impulse was now gone,. 
and to her son’s urgent request that she should disclose what 
she knew, she replied, ‘‘It isn’t much—only your father hag 
another daguerreotype, the counterpart of the first one. He 
procured it in Cincinnati, and ’Lena I know was not there.’ 

‘Ts that all?’’ asked Durward, in a disappointed tone. 

“Why no, not exactly. I have examined both pictures 
closely, and I do not think they resemble ’Lena as much as we © 
at first supposed. Possibly it might have been some one else, 
her mother, may be,’’ and Mrs. Graham looked earnestly at 
her son, who rather impatiently mite Ge: “¢ Her mother died 


years ago." 


* 
248 LENA BIVERS. 


At the same time he walked away, pondering upon what he 
had heard, and hoping, half believing, that "Lena would yet 
be exonerated from all blame. For a moment Mrs. Graham 
gazed after him, regretting that she had not told him all, but 
thinking there was time enough yet, and remembering that her 
husband had said she might wait until his return, if she chose, 
she went back to the parlor while Durward kept on his way. 





CHAPTER XXXIII. 
THE WANDERER. 


FIERCELY the noontide blaze of a scorching July sum was fall- 
ing upon the huge walls of the ‘* Laurel Hill Sun,’’ where a group 
of idlers were lounging on the long, narrow piazza, some nich- 
ing into still more grotesque carving the rude, unpainted rail- 
ing, while others, half reclining on one elbow, shaded their 
eyes with their old slouch hats, as they gazed wistfully toward 
the long hill, eager to catch the first sight of the daily stage 
which was momentarily expected. . 

‘‘ Jerry is late, to-day—but it’s so plaguy hot he’s favorin’ 
his hosses, I guess,’’ said the rosy-faced landlord, with that 
peculiar intonation which stamped him at once a genuine 
Yankee. 

«¢ A watched pot never biles,’’ muttered one of the loungers, 
who regularly for fifteen years had been at his post, waiting for 
the stage, which during all that time had brought him neither 
letter, message, friend, nor foe. 

But force of habit is everything, and after the very wise say- 
ing recorded above, he resumed his whittling, never again 
jooking up until the loud blast of the driver’s horn was heard 
on the distant hilltop, where the four weary, jaded horses were 
now visible. It was the driver’s usual custom to blow his horn 
from the moment he appeared on the hiil, until with a grand 
flourish he reined his panting steeds before the door of the inn. 
But this time there was one sharp, shrill sound, and then all 
was still, the omission eliciting several remarks not very com- 
plimentary to the weather, which was probably the cause of 
*¢ Jerry’s’’ unwonted silence. Very slowly the vehicle came 
on, the horses never leaving a walk, and the idler of fiteea 
years’ standing, who for a time had suspended his whittling, 
‘wondered what was to ray.” 


4 
LENA RIVERS. Bas 


& nearer approach revealed three or four male passengers, 
ali occupied with a young lady, who, on the back seat, was 
carefully supported by one of her companions. | 

‘© A sick gal, I guess. Wonder if thé disease is catchin’ P” 
said the whittler, standing back several paces and looking over 
the heads of the others, who crowded forward as the stage 
came up. The loud greeting of the noisy group was answered 
by Jerry with a low “ sh—sh,”’ as he pointed significantly at 
the slight form which two of the gentlemen were lifting from the 
coach, asking at the same time if there were a physician near. 

‘¢ What’s the matter on her? MHain’t got the cholery, has 
she,’’ said the landlord, who, having hallooed to his wife to 
s¢fetch up her vittles,’? now appeared on the piazza ready to 
welcome his guests. 

At the first mention of cholera, the fifteen years’ man va- ‘ 
mosed, retreating across the road, and seating himself on the 
fence under the shadow of the locust trees. 

‘¢ Who is she, Jerry ?’’ asked the younger of the set, gazing 
curiously upon the white, beautiful face of the stranger, who 
had been laid upon the lounge 1 in the common sitting-room. 

«¢ Lord only knows,”’ said Jerry, wip ng the heavy drops of 
sweat from his good-humored face; ‘‘I found her at the hotel 
in Livony. She came there in the cars, and said she wanted 
to go over to t’other railroad. She was so weak that I had to 
lift her into the stage as 1 would a baby, and she ain’t much 
heavier. You orto see how sweet she smiled when she thanked 
me, and asked me not to drive very fast, it made her head 
ache so. Zounds, I wouldn’t of trotted the horses if I’d never 
got here. Jest after we started she fainted, and she’s been 
kinder talkin’ strange like ever since. Some of the gentlemen 
thought I’d better leave her back a piece at Brown’s tavern, 
but I wanted to fetch her here, where Aunt Betsy could nuss 
her up, and then I can kinder tend to her myself, you know.’’ 

This last remark called forth no answering joke, for Jerry’s 
companions all knew his kindly nature, and it was no wonder 
to them that his sympathies were so strongly enlisted for the 
fair girl thus thrown upon his protection. It was a big, noble 
heart over which Jerry Langley buttoned his driver’s coat, and 
when the physician who had arrived pronounced the lady too 
ill to proceed any further, he called aside the fidgety landlord, 
whose peculiarities he well knew, and bade him ‘not to fret 
and stew, for if the gal hadn’t money, Jerry Langley was good 
for 2 longer time than she would live, poor critter ;’’ and. iy 


Ww 


Fi 
250 LENA RIVERS. 


wiped a tear away, glancing, the while, at the burying-ground 
which lay just across the garden, and thinking how if she 
died, her grave should be beneath the wide-spreading oak, 
where often in the summer nights he sat, counting the head- 
stones which marked the last resting place of the slumbering 
host, and wondering if death were, as some had said, a long, , 
eternal sleep. 

Aunt Betsey, of whom he had spoken, was the landlady, a 
little dumpy, pleasant-faced, active woman, equally in her ele- 
ment bending over the steaming gridiron, or smoothing the 
pillows of the sick-bed, where her powers of nursing had won 
golden laurels from others than Jerry Langley. When the 
news was brought to the kitchen that among the passengers was 
a sick girl, who was to be left, her first thought, naturai to 
everybody, was, ‘*‘ What sha// I do?” while the second, natural 
to her, was, *‘ Take care of her, of course.’ 

Accordingly, when the dinner was upon the table, she laid 
aside her broad check apron, substituting in its place a half- 
worn silk, for Jerry had reported the invalid to be ‘‘ every inch 
a lady;’’ then smoothing her soft, silvery hair with her fat, 
rosy hands, she repaired to the sitting-room, where she found 
the driver watching his charge, from whom he kept the buzzing 
flies by means of his bandana, which he waved to and fro with 
untiring patience. ! 

‘¢ Handsome as a London doll,’’ was her first exclamation, 
adding, ‘‘ but I should think she’d be awful hot with them 
curls, dangling in her neck! If she’s goin’ to be sick they’d 
better be cut off ty” m acyah 

If there was any one thing for which Aunt Betsey Aldergrass 
possessed a particular passion, it was for /azr-cutting, she being 
barber general for Laurel Hill, which numbered about thirty 
houses, store and church inclusive, and now when she saw the 
shining tresses which lay in such profusion upon the pillow, 
her fingers tingled to their very tips, while she involuntarily 
felt for her scissors! Very reverentially, as if it were almost 
sacrilege, Jerry’s broad palm was laid protectingly upon the 
clustering ringlets, while he said, ‘‘No, Aunt Betsey, if she 
dies for’t, you shan’t touch one of them; ’twould spile her 
hair, she looks so pretty.”’ 

Slowly the long, fringed lids unclosed, and the brown eyes 
iooked up so gratefully at Jerry, that he beat a precipitate re- 
treat, muttering to himself that ‘‘ he never could stand the gals, 
anyway, they made his heart thump so !”’ 


LENA RIVERS. 251 


“Am I very sick, and can’t I go on?”’ asked the young 
lady, attempting to rise, but sinking back from extreme weak- 
ness. 

‘«‘ Considerable sick, I guess,’’ answered the landlady, tak- 
ing from a side cupboard an immense decanter of camphor, 
and passing it toward the stranger. ‘‘ Considerable sick, and 
TY wouldn’t wonder if you had to lay bya dayor so. Will 
they be consarned about you to home, ’cause if they be, my 
old man’ll write.’’ | 

‘sT] have no home,’’ was the sad answer, to which Aunt 
Betsey responded in astonishment, ‘‘ Hain’t no home! Where 
does your marm live?” 

‘‘ Mother is dead,’’ said the girl, her tears dropping fast 
apon the pillow. 

Instinctively the landlady drew nearer to her, as she asked, 
« And your pa—where is he?”’ 

‘¢T never saw him,’’ said the girl, while her interrogator 
continued : ‘* Never saw your pa, and your marm is dead— 
poor child, what is your name, and where did you come 
from P”’ 

For a moment the stranger hesitated, and then thinking it 
better to tell the truth at once, she replied, ‘*‘My name is 
"Lena. I lived with my uncle a great many miles from here, 
but I wasn’t happy. They did not want me there, and 1 ran 
away. Iam going to my cousin, but I’d rather not tell where, 
so you will please not ask me.’ 

There was something in her manner which silenced Aunt 
Betsey, who, erelong, proposed that she should go upstairs and 
lie down on a nice little bed, where she would be more aut, 
But ’Lena refused, saying she should feel better soon. 

‘¢ Mebby, hen. you’d eat a mouffle or two. We've got 
some roasted pork, and Hetty’ll warm over the gravy;’’ but 
*Lena’s stomach rebelled at the very thought, seeing which, 
the landlady went back to the kitchen, where she soon pre- 
pared a bow! of gruel, in spite of the discouraging remarks of 
her husband, who, being a little after the Old Hunks oe 
cautioned her ‘‘not to fuss too much, as gals that ru a 
warn’t apt to be plagued with money.’ 

Fortunately, Aunt Betsey’s heart covered a broader sphere, 
and the moment the stage was gone she closed the door to shut 
out the dust, dropped the green curtains, and drawing from the 
spare-room a large, stuffed chair, bade ’Lena ‘‘see if she 
couldp’t set ob. a minit.’’ But this was impossible, and all 





4 


wy 


252 LENA RIVERS. 


that long, sultry afternoon she lay upon the lounge, holding 
her aching head, which seemed well-nigh bursting with its 
weight of pain and thought. ‘Was it right for her to run 
away? Ought she not to have stayed and _ bravely met the 
worst ? Suppose she were to die there alone, among strangers 
and without money, for her scanty purse was well-nigh 
drained.’’ These and similar reflections crowded upon her, 
until her brain grew wild and dizzy, and when at sunset the 
physician came again he was surprised to find how much her 
fever had increased. 

‘‘She ought not to he here,” said he, as he saw how the 
loud shouts of the schoolboys made her shudder. ‘‘ Isn't 
there some place where she can be more quiet? ”’ 

At the head of the stairs was a small room, containing a 
single bed and a window, which last looked out upon the 
garden and the graveyard beyond. Its furniture was of the 
plainest kind, it being reserved for more common travelers, 
and here the landlord said ’Lena must be taken. His wife 
would far rather have given her the front chamber, which was 
large, airy and light, but Uncle Tim Aldergrass said ‘‘ No,” 
squealing out through his little peaked nose that +: varn’t an 
atom likely he’d ever more’n half git his pay, anyway, and he 
warn’t a goin’ to give up the hull house.”’ 

-*¢ How much more will it be if she has the best chamher,”’ 
asked Jerry, pulling at Uncle Tim’s coat-tail and leadny, him 
aside. ‘‘ How much will it be, ’cause if ’tain’t too much, she 
shan’t stay in that eight by-nine pen.”’ 

‘©A dollar a week, and cheap at that,’? muttered Uncle 
Tim, while Jerry, going out behind the wood-house, counted 
over his funds, sighing as he found them quite too smali to 
eet the extra dollar per week, should she long continue ill. 

“If I hadn’t of fooled so much away for tobacker and 
things, I shouldn’t be so plaguy poor now,’’ thought he, for- 
getting the many hearts which his hard-earned gains had made 
glad, for no one ever appealed in vain for help from Jerry 
Langley, who represented one class of Yankees, while ‘Timothy 
Aldergrass represented another. 

‘She next morning just as daylight was beginning to be vis- 
itle, Jerry knocked softly at Aunt Betsey’s door, telling her 
that for more than an hour he’d heard the young lady takin’ 
on, and he guessed she was worse. Hastily throwing on her 
loose gown Aunt Betsey repaired to "Lena’s room, where she 
found her sitting up in the bed, moaning, talking, and whispers 


LENA RIVERS. eo 
ing, while the wild expression of her eyes betokened a dis 
ordered brain. 

‘«The Lord help us! she’s crazy as a loon. Run for the 
doctor, quick! ’’ exclaimed Mrs. Aldergrass, and without boot 
or shoe, Jerry ran off in his stocking-feet, alarming the physi- 
cian, who immediately hastened to the inn, pronouncing ’Lena’s 
disease to be brain fever,\as he had at first feared. 

Rapidly she grew worse, talking of her home, which was 
sometimes in Kentucky and sometimes in Massachusetts, where 
she said they had buried her mother. At other times she 
_ would ask Aunt Betsey to send for Durward when she was 
dead, and tell him how innocent she was. 

‘¢Didn’t I tell you there was something wrong?’’ Uncle 
Timothy would squeak. <‘ Nobody knows who we are har- 
borin’ nor how much ’twill damage the house.” 

But as day after day went by, and ’Lena’s fever raged more 
fiercely, even Uncle Tim relented, and when she would beg of 
them to take her home and bury her by the side of Mabel, 
where Durward could see her grave, he would sigh, ‘ Poor 
critter, | wish you was to home,’’ but whether this wish was 
prompted by a sincere desire to please ’Lena, or from a more 
selfish motive, we are unable to state. One morning, the fifth 
of ’Lena’s illness, she seemed much worse, talking incessantly 
and tossing from side to side, her long hair floating in wild 
disorder over her pillow, or streaming down her shoulders. 
Hitherto Aunt Betsey had restrained her darberic desire, each 
day arranging the heavy locks, and tucking them under the 
muslin cap, where they refused to stay. Once the doctor him- 
self had suggested the propriety of cutting them away, add- 
ing, though, that they would wait awhile, as it was a pity to 
lose them. 

«Better be cut off than yanked off,’’ said Aunt Betsey, on 
the morning when ’Lena in her frenzy would occasionally tear 
out handfuls of her shining hair and scatter it over the floor. 

Satisfied that she was doing right, she carefully approached 
the bedside, and taking one of the curls in her hand, was 
about to sever it, when ’Lena, divining her intentions, sprang 
up, and gathering up her hair, exclaimed, <‘ No, no, not these ; 
take everything else, but leave memy curls. Durward thought 
they were beautiful, and I cannot lose them.” 

At the side door below, the noonday stage was unloading its 
passengers, and as the tones of their voices came in at the open 
window, ’Lena suddenly grew calmer, and assuming a listens 


24 LENA RIVERS. 


ing attitude, whispered, ‘“‘ Hark! He’s come. Don’t you 
hear him?” 

But Aunt Betsey heard nothing, except her husband calling 
her to come down, and leaving ’Lena, who had almost instantly 
become quiet, to the care of a neighbor, she started for the 
kitchen, meeting in the lower hall with Hetty, who was show- 
ing one of the passengers to a room where he could wash and 
refresh himself after his dusty ride. As they passed each other, 
Hetty asked, ‘‘ Have you clipped her curls? ”’ 

‘‘No,’’ answered Mrs. Aldergrass, ‘‘she wouldn’t let me 
touch ’em, for she said that Durward, whom she talks so much 
about, liked ’em, and they mustn’t be cut off.” 

Instantly the stranger, whose elegant appearance both Hetty 
and her mistress had been admiring, stopped, and turning te 
the latter, said, ‘‘ Of whom are you speaking ?’’ 

‘Of a young girl that came in the stage, sick, five or six 
days ago,’’ answered Mrs. Aldergrass. 

‘¢What is her name, and where does she live? ’’ continued 
the stranger. 

‘¢ She calls herself ’Lena, but the tother name I don’t know, 
and I guess she lives in Kentucky or Massachusetts.” 

The young man waited to hear no more, but mechanically 
followed Hetty to his room, starting and turning pale as a wild, 
unnatural laugh fell on his ear. 

‘Tt is the young lady, sir,’”’ said Hetty, observing his agi- 
tated manner. ‘‘She raves most all the time, and the doctor 
says she’ll die if she don’t stop.”’ 

The gentleman nodded, and the next moment he was as he 
wished to be, alone. He had found her then—his lost ’Lena 
—sick, perhaps dying, and his heart gave one agonized throb 
as he thought, ‘‘ What if she should die? Yet why should | 
wish her to live? ’’ he asked, ‘‘ when she is as surely lost to me 
as if she were indeed resting in her grave !’’ 

_ And still, reason as he would, a something told him that all 
would yet be well, else, perhaps, he had never followed her. 
Believing she would stop at Mr. Everett’s, he had come on thus 
far, finding her where he least expected it, and spite of his 
fears, there was much of pleasure mingled with his pain as he 
thought how he would protect and care for her, ministering to 
her comfort, and softening, as far as possible, the disagreeable 
things which he saw must necessarily surround her. Money, 
he knew, would purchase almost everything, and if ever Dur- 
ward Bellmont felt glad that he was rich, it was when he found 


ze Si Si te ee ee a — 


Se ae 


unENA RIVERS, 258 


“Lena Kivers sick and alone at the not very comfortable inn of 
Laurel Hill. 

As he was entering the dining-room, he saw Jerry—-whose 
long, lank figure and original manner had afforded hin, much 
amusement during his ride—handing a dozen or more oranges 
to Mrs. Aldergrass , saying, as he did so, ‘* They are for Miss 
"Lena. I thought mec!:, they’d taste good, this hot weather, 
and I ransacked the hull town to find the nicest and best.” 

For a moment Durward’s cheek flushed at the idea of ’Lena’s 
being cared for by such as Jerry, but the next instant his heart 
grew warm toward the uncouth driver who, without any possi- 
_ ble motive save the promptings of his own kindly nature, had 


—~ thus thought of the stranger girl. Ere long the stage was an- 


nounced as ready and waiting, but to the surprise and regret 
of his fellow-passengers, who had found him a most agreeable 
traveling companion, Durward said he was not going any fur- 
ther that day. 

‘¢A new streak, ain’t it?’’ asked Jerry, who knew he was 
booked for the entire route; but the young man made no re- 
ply, and the fresh, spirited horses soon bore the lumbering ve- 
hicle far Gut of sight, leaving him to watch the cloud of dust 
which it carried in its train. 

Uncle Timothy was in his element, for it was not often that 
a guest of Durward’s appearance honored his house with more 
than a passing call, and with the familiarity so common toa 
country landlord, he slapped him on the shoulder, telling him 
“there was the tallest kind of fish in the Honeoye,’’ whose _ 


waters, through the thick foliage of the trees were just discern- » 


ible, sparkling and gleaming in the bright sunlight. 

‘‘T never fish, thank you, sir,’? answered Durward, while 
the good-natured landlord continued: ‘‘Now you don’t say 
it! Hunt, then, mebby ?”” 

“*Occasionally,’’ said Durward, adding, ‘‘ But my reason for 
stopping here is of entirely a different nature. I hear there is 
with you a sick lady. She isa friend of mine, and I am stay- 
ing to see that she is well attended to.’ 

<‘ Yes, yes,’’? said Uncle Timothy, suddenly changing his 
opinion of ’Lena, whose want of money had made him sadly 
suspicious of her. ‘‘ Yes, yes, a fine gal; fell into good hands, 
too, for my old woman is the greatest kind of a nuss. Want 
to see her, don’t you ?—the lady I mean.’’ 

‘¢Not just yet; I would like ~« few moments’ conversation 
with your wife first,” answered Durward. 





4 
abe LENA RBIVER. « 


Greatly frustrated when she learned that tne stylish looking 
gentleman wished to talk with her, Aunt Betsey rubbed her 
shining face with flour, and donning another cap, repaired to 
the sitting-room, where she commenced making excuses about 
herself, the house, and everything else, saying, ‘‘’twant what 
he was used to, she knew, but she hoped he’d try to put up 
with it.” 

As soon as he was able to get in a word, Durward proceeded 
to ask her every particular concerning ’Lena’s illness, and 
whether she would probably recognize him should he venture 
into her presence. 

‘‘Bless your dear heart, no. She hain’t known a soul on us 
these three days. Sometimes she calls me ‘ grandmother,’ and 
says when she’s dead I'll know she’s innocent. ’Pears like 
somebody has been slanderin’ her, for she begs and pleads with 
Durward, as she calls him, not to believe it. Ain’t-you the one 
She means? ”’ : 

Durward nodded, and Mrs Aldergrass continued: ‘I 
thought so, for when the stage driv up she was standin’ straight 
in the bed, ravin’ and screechin’, but the minit she heard your 
voice she “dropped down, and has been as quiet ever since. 
Will you go up now?” 

Durward signified his willingness, and following his land- 
ete he soon stood in the close, pent-up room where, in an ai- 

asy slumber, “Lena lay panting for breath, and at intervals 
faintly toaning in her sleep. She had fearfully changed since 
‘saw her, and with a groan, he bent over her, murmuring 





gre My poor 'Lena,’’ while of gently laid his cool, moist hand 


upon her burning brow. As if there were something soothing 
in its touch, she quickiy ine her little hot, parched hand 
on his, whispering, ‘‘ Keep it there. It will make me well.” 

For a long time he sat by her, bathing her head and care- 
fully removing from her face and neck the thick curls which 
Mrs. Aldergrass had thought to cut away. At last she awoke, 
but Durward shrank almost in fear from the wild, bright eyes 
which gazed so fixedly upon him, for in them was no ray of 
reason. She called him ‘‘ John’’ blessing him for coming, and 
saying, ** Did you tell Durward. Does de know ?’’ 

“‘] am’ Durward,”" said he. ‘* Don’t you recognize me? 
Look jee 

““No, no,’’ she answered, with a mocking laugh, whic 
made him ’ shudder, it was so unlike the merry, ringing 
tones he had once loved to hear. ‘No, no, you are nos 


— a 


| 





ENA RIVERS. 257 


Durward. He would not look at me as youdo. He thinks 
me guilty.” 

It was in vain Durward strove to convince her of his 
identity. She would only answer with a laugh, which grated 
so harshly on his ear that he finally desisted, and suffered 
her to think he was her cousin. ‘The smallness of her chamber 
troubled him, and when Mrs. Aldergrass came up he asked 
if there was no other apartment where ’Lena would be more 
comfortable. 

<«¢Of course there is,’’ said Aunt Betsey. ‘‘'There’s the best 
chamber I was goin’ to give to you.”’ 

‘¢Never mind me,’ said he. ‘‘ Let her have every comfort 
the house affords, and you shall be amply paid.’’ 

Uncle Timothy had now no objection to the offer, and the 
large, airy room with its snowy, draped bed was soon in readi- 
ness for the sufferer, who, in one of her wayward moods, ab- 
solutely refused to be moved. It was in vain that Aunt Betsey 
plead, persuaded, and threatened, and at last in despair Dur- 
ward was called in to try his powers of persuasion. 

‘‘That’s something more like it,’’ said ’Lena, and when he 
urged upon her the necessity of her removal, she asked, ‘* Will 
you go with me?” 

<‘ Certainly,’’ said he. 

<«« And stay with me ?ei* 

<¢ Certainly.”’ 

«Then I'll go,’’ she continued, stretching her arms toward 
him as a child toward its mother. 


A moment more and she was reclining on the soft downy 


pillows, the special pride of Mrs. Aldergrass, who bustled in and 
out, while her husband, ashamed of his stinginess, said ‘‘ they 
should of moved her afore, only ’twas a bad sign.”’ 

During the remainder of the day she seemed more quiet, 
talking incessantly, it is true, but never raving if Durward were 


near. It is strange what power he had over her, a word from | 


him sufficing at any time to subdue her when in her most 
violent fits of frenzy. For two days and nights he watched by 
her side, never giving himself a moment’s rest, while the neigh- 
bors looked on, surmising and commenting as people always 
will. Every delicacy of the season, however costly, was pur- 
cnased for her comfort, while each morning the flowers which 
he knew she loved the best were freshly gathered from the 
different gardens of Laurel Hill, and in broken pitchers, crackec, 
tumblers, and nicked saucers, adorned the room. 


958 LENa RIVERS. 


At the close of the third day she fell into a heavy slumber, 

and Durward, worn out and weary, retired to take the rest he 
3o much needed. For a long time ’Lena slept, watched by the 
physician, who, knowing that the crisis had arrived, waited 
anxiously for her waking, which came at last, bringing with it 
the light of returning reason. Dreamily she gazed about the 
room, and in a voice no longer strong with the excitement of 
delirium, asked, ‘‘ Where am I, and how came I here? ”’ 
’ Ina few words the physician explained all that was necessary 
for her to know, and then going for Mrs. Aldergrass, told her 
of the favorable change 2: his patient, adding that a sudden 
shock might still prove fatal. ‘‘ Therefore,’’ said he, ‘*‘ though 
I know notgin what relation this Mr. Bellmont stands to her, J 
think it advisable for her to remain awhile in ignorance of 
his presence. It is of the utmost consequence that she be 
kept quiet forsa few days, at the end of which time she can see 
him.”’ 

All this Aunt Betsey communicated to Durward, who un. 
willing to do anything which would endanger ’Lena’s safety, 
kept himself aloof, treading softly and speaking low, for as if 
her hearing were sharpened by disease she more than once, 
when he was talking in the hall below, started up, listening 
eagerly; then, as if satisfied that she had been deceived, 
she would resume her position, while the flush on her cheek 
deepened as she thought, ‘‘Oh, what if it had indeed beer 
he ! 17? 

Nearly all the day long he sat just without the door, holding 
his breath as he caught the faint tones of her voice, and long- 
ing for the hour when he could see her, and obtain, if possible, 
some clue to the mystery attending her and his father. His 
mcther’s words, together with what he had heard ’Lena say in 
her ravings, had tended to convince him that she, at least, 
might be innocent, and once assured of this, he felt that he 
would gladly fold her to his bosom, and cherish her there as the 
choicest of heaven’s blessings. All this time "Lena had no 
suspicion of his presence, but she wondered at the many 
luxuries which surrounded her, and once, when Mrs. Aldergrass 
offered her some choice wine, she asked who it was that sup- 
plied her with so many comforts. Aunt Betsey’s forte did not 
lay in keeping a secret, and rather evasively she replied, ‘‘ You 
mustn't ask me too many questions just yet!”’ 

*Lena’s suspicions were at once aroused, and for more than 
an hour she lay thinking—trying to recall something which 


eT ee 


LENA RIVERS. 255 


_ seemed to her like a dream. At last calling Aunt Betsey te 


her, she said, ‘‘ There was somebody here while I was:so sick 
—somebody besides strangers—somebody that stayed with me 
all the time—who was it?”’ 

‘‘Nobody, nobody—I mustn’t tell,’? said Mrs. Aldergrass, | 
hurriedly, while ’Lena continued, ‘* Was it Cousin John?” 

‘¢No, no; don’t guess any more,’’ was Mrs. Aldergrass’s 
reply, and ‘Lena, clasping her hands together, exclaimed, 
*¢ Oh, could it be he?” 

The words reached Durward’s ear, and nothing but a sense 
of the harm it might do prevented him from going at once to 
her bedside. ‘That night, at his earnest request, the physician 
gave him permission to see her in the morning, and Mrs. 
Aldergrass was commissioned to prepa. her for the interview. 
"Lena did not ask who it was; she felt that she knew ; and the 
knowledge that Ae was there—that Ae had cared for her—oper- 
ated upon her like a spell, soothing her into the most refresh- 
ing slumber she had experienced for many a weary week. 
With the sun-rising she was awake, but Mrs. Aldergrass, who 
came in soon after, told her that the visitor was not to be ad- 
mitted until about ten, as she would by that time have become 
more composed, and be the better able to endure the excite- 
ment of the interview. A natural delicacy prevented ’Lena 
from objecting to the delay, and, as calmly as possible, she 


/*watched mrs. Aldergrass while she put the room to rights, and 


then patiently suu.citted to the arranging of her curls, which 
during her illness haa Necome matted and tangled. Before 
eight everything was in reaainess, and soon after, worn out by 
her own exertions, "Lena again fell asleep. 

‘«¢ How lovely she looks,’”’ thought Mrs. Aldergrass. <* He 
shall just have a peep at her,’’ and stepping to the door she 
beckoned Durward to her side. 

Never before had ’Lena seemed so beautiful to him, and as 
ne looked upon her, he felt his doubts removing, one by one. 
She was innocent—it could not be otherwise—and very impa- 
tiently he awaited the lapse of the two hours which must pass 
ere he could see her, face to face. At length, as the surest 
way of killing time, he started out for a walk in a pleasant 
wood which skirted the foot of Laurel Hill. 

Were for a time we leave him, while in another chapter we 
speak of an event which, in the natural order of oe should 
here be narrated. 


260 LENA RIVERS. 


CHAPTER XXXIV 
‘LENA’S FATHER. 


Two or three days before the morning of which we have 
spoken, Uncle Timothy, who like many of his profession had 
been guilty of a slight infringement of the ‘‘ Maine” liquor 
law, had been called to answer for the same at the court then 
in session in the village of Canandaigua, the terminus of the 
stage route. Altogether too stingy to pay the coach fare, his 
own horse had carried him out, going for him onthe night pre- 
ceding Durward’s projected meeting with "Lena. On the 
afternoon of that day the cars from New York brought up 
several passengers, who being bound for Buffalo, were 
obliged to wait some hours for the arrival of the Albany train. 

Among those who stopped at the same house with Uncie 
Timothy, was our old acquaintance, Mr. Graham, who had re- 
turned from Europe, and was now homeward bound, firmly 
fixed in his intention to do right at last. Manyand manya 
time during his travels had the image of a pale, sad face arisen 
before him accusing him of solong neglecting to own his child, 
for ‘Lena was his daughter, and she, who in all her bright 
beauty had years ago gone down to an early grave, was his 
wife, the wife of his first, and in bitterness of heart he some- 
times thought, of his only love. His childhood’shome, which 
was at the sunny south, was not a happy one, for ere he had 
learned to lisp his mother’s name, she had died, leaving him te 
the guardianship of his father, who was cold, exacting, and 
tyrannical, ruling his son with a rod of iron, and by his stern, 
unbending manner increasing the natural cowardice of his dis- 
position. From his mother Harry had inherite+ a generous. 
impulsive nature, frequently leading him into errors which his 
father condemned with so much severity that ne early learnec 
the art of concealment, as far, at least, as his father was con- 
cerned. 

At the age of eighteen he left home for Yale, where he spenr 
four happy years, for the restraints of college life, though some 
times irksome, were preferable far to the dull monotony of his 
southern home; and when at last he was graduated, and there 


LENA FPITVERS, 961 


was no longer an excuse for tarrying, he lingered by the way, 
stopping at the then village of Springfield, where, actuated by 
some sudden freak, he registered himself as Harry Azvers, the 
latter being his middle name. For doing this he had no partic- 
ular reason, except that it suited his fancy, and Rivers, he 
thought, was a better name than Graham. Here he met with 
Helena Nichols, whose uncommon beauty first attracted his at- 
tention, and whose fresh, unstudied manners afterward won his 
love to such an extent, that in an unguarded moment, and 
without a thought of the result, he married her, neglecting to 
tell her his real name before their marriage, because he feared 
she would cease to respect him if she knew he had deceived 
her, and then afterward finding it harder than ever to confess 
Ais fault. 

As time wore on, his father’s letters, commanding him to res 
turn, grew more and more peremptory, until at last he wrote, 
«“T am sick—dying—and if you do not come, I’ll cast you off 
forever.’’ 

Harry knew this was no unmeaning threat, and he now be- 
gan to reap the fruit of his folly. He could not give up Hel- 
ena, who daily grew dearer to him, neither could he brave the 
displeasure of his father by acknowledging his marriage, for 
disinheritance was sure to follow. In this dilemma he resolved 
to compromise the matter. He would leave Helena awhile; 
ne would visit his father, and if a favorable opportunity oc-. 
curred, he would confess all; if not, he would return to his 
wife and do the best he could. But she must be provided for 
during his absence, and to effect this, he wrote to his father, 
saying he stood greatly in need of five hundred dollars, and 
that immediately on its receipt he would start for home. In- 
consistent as it seemed with his general character, the elder 
Mr. Graham was generous with his money, lavishing upon his 
son all that he asked for, and the monev was accordingly sent 
without a moment’s hesitation. 

And now Harry’s besetting sin, secrecy, came again in ac- 
tion, and instead of manfully telling Helena the truth, he left 
her privately, stealing away at night, and quieting his conscience 
by promising himself to reveal all in a letter, which was ac- 
tuaily written, but as at the time of its arrival Helena was at 
home, and the postmaster knew of no such person, it was at 
iast sent to Washington with thousands of its companions. The 
reader already knows how ’Lena’s young mother watched for 
her recreant husband’s coming until life and hope died out te- 


963 LENA RIVERS. 


gether, and it is only necessary to repeat that part of the story 
which relates to Harry, who on his return home found his father 
much worse than he expected. At his bedside, ministering to 
his wants, was a young, dashing widow, who prided herself 
upon being Lady Bellmont. On his deathbed her father had 
committed her to the guardianship of Mr. Graham, who, 
strictly honorable in all his dealings, had held his trust until 
the time of her marriage with a young Englishman. 

Unfortunately, as it proved for Harry, and fortunately for 
Sir Arthur, who had nothing in common with his wife, the 
latter died within two years after his marriage, leaving his 
widow and infant son again to the care of Mr. Graham, with 
whom Lady Bellmont, as she was pleased to call herself, lived 
at intervals, swaying him whichever way she listed, and influ- 
encing him as he had never been influenced before. The 
secret of this was, that the old man had his eye upon her vast 
possessions, which he destined for his son, who, ignorant of the 
honor intended him, had presumed to marry according to the 
promptings of his heart. 

Scarcely was the first greeting over, ere his father at once 
made known his plans, to which Harry listened with mingled 
pain and amazement. ‘‘Lucy—Lady Bellmont!”’ said he, 
‘‘why, she’s a mother—a widow—beside being ten years my 
senior.”’ 

‘¢ Three years,’’ interrupted his father. ‘‘She is twenty-five, 
you twenty-two, and then as to her being a widow and a 
mother, the immensity of her wealth atones for that. She is 
much sought after, but I think she prefers you. She will make 
you a good wife, and I am resolved to see the union consum- 
mated ere I die.” 

‘‘Never, sir, never,’’? answered Harry, in a more decided 
manner than he had before assumed toward his father. ‘It is 
utterly impossible.”’ 

Mr. Graham was too much exhausted to urge the matter at 
that time, but he continued at intervals to harass Harry, until 
the very sight of Lucy Bellmont became hateful to him. It 
was not so, however, with the son, the Durward of our story. 
He was a fine little fellow, whom every one loved, and for 
hours would Harry amuse himself with him, while his thoughts 
were with his own wife and child, the latter of whom was to be 
30 strangely connected with the fortunes of the boy at his side. 
For weeks his father lingered, each day seeming an age to 
Harry, who, though he did not wish to hasten his father’s 





263 


death, still longed to be away. Twice had he written without 
obtaining an answer, and he was about making up his mind to 
start, at all events, when his father suddenly died, leaving hina 
the sole heir of all his princely fortune, and with his latest 
breath enjoining it upon him to marry Lucy Bellmont, who, 
after the funeral was over, adverted to it, saying, in her softest 
tones, ‘‘I hope you don’t feel obliged to fulfil your father’s 
request.”’ 

‘Of course not,’’ was Harry’s short answer, as he went on 
with his preparations for his journey, anticipating the happiness 
he should experience in making Helena the mistress of his 
luxurious home. 

But alas for human hopes. ‘The very morning on which he 
was intending to start, he was seized with a fever, which kept 
him confined to his bed until the spring was far advanced. 
Sooner than he was able he started for Springfield in quest of 
Helena, learning from the woman whom he had left in charge, 
that she was dead, and her baby too! The shock was too 
much for him in his weak state, and for two weeks he was 
again confined to a sick-bed, sincerely mourning the untimely 
end of one whom he had truly loved, and whose death his own 
foolish conduct had hastened. Soon after their marriage her 
portrait had been taken by the best artist in the town, and this 
he determined to procure as a memento of the few happy days 
he had spent with Helena. But the cottage where he left her 
was now occupied by strangers, and after many inquiries, he 
learned that the portrait, together with some of the furniture, 
had been sold to pay the rent, which became due soon after his 
departure. His next thought was to visit her parents, but from 
this his natural timidity shrank. They would reproach him, 
he thought, with the death of their daughter, whom he had so 
deeply wronged, and not possessing sufficient courage to meet 
them face to face, he again started for home, bearing a sad 
heart, which scarcely again felt a thrill of joy until the morn- 
ing when he first met with "Lena, whose exact resemblance to 
her mother so startled him as to arouse the jealousy of his wife. 

It would be both needless and tiresome to enumerate the 
many ways and means by which Lucy Bellmont sought to en- 
snare him. Suffice it to say, that she at last succeeded, and 
he married her, finding in the companionship of her son more 
real pleasure than he ever experienced in her society. After a 
time Mrs. Graham, growing weary of Charleston, where her 
haughty, overbearing manner made her unpopular, besought 


264 LENA RIVERS. 


her husband to remove, which he finally did, going to Louis. 
ville, where he remained until the time of his removal to 
Woodlawn. Fully believing what the old nurse had told him 
of the death of his wife and child, he had no icea of the ex- 
istence of the latter, though often in the stillness of night the 
remembrance of the little girl whom Durward had pointed out to 
him in the cars, arose before him, haunting him with visions of 
the past, but it was not until he met her at Maple Grove that 
he entertained a thought of her being his daughter. 

From that time his whole being seemed changed, for there 
was now an object for which to live. Carefully had he guarded 
from his wife a knowledge of his first marriage, for he dreaded 
her sneering reproaches, and he could not hear his beloved 
Helena’s name breathed lightly by one so greatly her inferior. 
When he saw ’Lena, however, his first impulse was to clasp 
her in his arms and compel his wife to own her, but day after 
day went by, and he still delayed, hoping for a more favorable 
opportunity, which never came. Had he found her in less 
favorable circumstances, he might have done differently, but 
seeing only the brightest side of her life, he believed her com- 
paratively happy. She was well educated, accomplished, and 
beautiful, and so he waited, secure in the fact that he was near 
to see that no harm should befall her. Once it occurred to 
him that possibly he might die suddenly, thus leaving his rela- 
tionship to her a secret forever, and acting upon this thought, 
he immediately made his will, bequeathing all to "Lena, whom 
he acknowledged to be his daughter, adding an explanation of 
the whole affair, together with a most touching letter to his 
child, who would never see it until he was dead. 

This done, he felt greatly relieved, and each day found some 
good excuse for still keeping it from his wife, who worried him 
incessantly concerning his evident preference for "Lena. Many 
and many a time he resolved to tell her all, but as often post- 
poned the matter, until, with the broad Atlantic between them, 
he ventured to write what he could not tell her verbally, and, 
strange to say, the effect upon his wife was far different from 
what he had expected. She did not faint, for there was no 
one by to see her, neither did she rave, for there was no one to 
hear her, but with her usual inconsistency, ‘she blamed her hus- 
band for not telling her before. Then came other thoughts of 
a different nature. She had helped to impair ’Lena’s reputa- 
tion, and if disgrace attached to her, it would also fall upon 
her own family. Consequently, as we have seen, she set her- 


a Se ee 


LENA RIVERS, 265 


self at work to atone, as far as possible, for her conduct. 
Her husband had given her permission to wait, if she chose, 
until his return, ere she made the affair public, and as she 
dreaded the remarks it would necessarily call forth, she re- 
solved to do so. He had advised her to tell "Lena, but she was 
gone—no one knew whither, and nervously she waited for 
some tidings of the wanderer. She was willingto receive ‘Lena 
but not the grandmother, s#e was voted an intolerable nuis- 
ance, who should never darken the doors of Woodlawn, never? 

Meantime, Mr. Graham had again crossed the ocean, land- 
ingin New York, from whence hestarted for home, meeting, 
as we have seen, with a detention in Canandaigua, where he 
accidently fell in with Uncle Timothy, who, being minus 
quite a little sum of money onaccount of his transgression, 
was lamenting his ill fortune to one-of his acquaintances, 
and threatening to give up tavern keeping if the Maine law 
wasn’t repealed. 

‘¢ Here,”’ said he, ‘it has cost me up’ards of fifty dollars, 
and [’'ll bet I hain’t sold more’n barrel, besides what wine that 
Kentucky chap has bought for iis gal, and I suppose they call 
that nothin’, bein’ it’s for sickness. Why, good Lord, the hull 
on’t was for medicine, or chimistry, or mechanics!” 

This reminded his friend to inquire after the sick lady whose 
name he did not remember. 

<‘ It’s "Lena,’’ answered Uncle Timothy, ‘*’Lena Rivers that 
dandified chap calls her, and it’s plaguy curis to me what she’s 
a runnin’ away for, and he a streakin’ it through the country 
arter her; there’s mischief summers, so I tell ’em, but that’s 
no consarn of mine so long as he pays down regular.’’ 

Mr. Graham’s curiosity was instantly aroused, and the mo- 
ment he could speak to Uncle Timothy alone, he asked what he 
meant by the sick lady. 

In his own peculiar dialect, Uncle Timothy told all he knew, 
adding, ‘‘ A relation of yourn, mebby?”’ 

“Yes, yes,’’ said Mr. Graham. ‘Is it far to Laurel Hill?” 

‘¢ Better’n a dozen miles. Was you goin’ out there ?’’ 

Mr. Graham replied in the affirmative, at the same time ask- 
ing if he could procure a horse and carriage there. 

Uncle Timothy never let an opportunity pass for turning a 
penny, and now nudging Mr. Graham with his elbow, he said, 
«Them iiv’ry scamps’ll charge you tew dollars, at the lowest 
calkerlation. I’m going right out, and will take you for six 
shillin’. What do you think?’’ 


“» 
266 LENA RIVERS. 


Mr. Graham’s thoughts were not very complimentary to the 

shrewd Yankee, but keeping his opinion to himself, he replied 
that he would go, suggesting that they should start immedi- 
ately. 
e In less than five minits. You jest set down while I go to 
the store arter some jimcracks for the old woman,’’ said Uncle 
Timothy, starting up the street, which was the last Mr. Graham 
saw of him for three long hours. 

At the end of that time, the little man carne stubbing down 
the walk, making many apologies, and saying ‘‘ he got so en- 
gaged about the darned ‘liquor law,’ and the putty-heads that 
made it, that he’d no idee ’twas so late.”’ 

On their way home he still continued to discourse on his 
favorite topic, lamenting that he had voted for the present gov- 
ernor, announcing his intention of ‘‘jinin’ the A/indews the 
fust time they met at Suckerport,”’ a village at the foot of 
Honeoye lake, and stopping every man whom he knew to be- 
long to that order, to ask if they took a fee, and if ‘‘ there was 
any bedivelment of grzadirons and goats, such as the Masons 
and Odd Fellers had!’’ Being repeatedly assured that the fee 
was only a dollar, and that the initiatory process was not very 
painful, he concluded ‘‘to go it, provided they’d promise to 
run him for constable. Office is the hull any of the scallywags 
jine ’em for, and I may as well go in for a sheer,’’ said he, 
thinking if he could not have the privilege of selling liquor, he 
would at least secure the right of arresting those who drank it ! 

In this way his progress homeward was not very rapid, and 
the clock had struck ten long ere they reached the inn, which 
they found still and dark, save the light which was kept burn- 
ing in ’Lena’s room. 

‘‘That’s her chamber—the young gal’s—where you see the 
candle,’’ said Uncle Timothy, as they drew up before the huge 
walls of the tavern. ‘‘I guess you won’t want to disturb her 
to-night.’’ 

‘¢ Certainly not,’’? answered Mr. Graham, adding, as he felt 
a twinge of his inveterate habit of secrecy, ‘‘ If you’d just as 
lief, you need not speak of me to the young gentleman ; I wish 
to take him by surprise ’’—meaning Durward. 

There was no particular necessity for this caution, for Uncle 
Timothy was too much absorbed in his loss to think of any- 
thing else, and when his wife asked “‘who it was that he 
lighted up to bed,’’ he replied, ‘‘ A chap that wanted to come 
out this way, and sa rid with me.’ 


# 
LENA BIVERS. 967 


Mr. %raham \.us very tired, and now scarcely nad his head 
pressed the pillow ere he was asleep, dreaming of ’Lena, whose 
presence was to shed such a halo of sunlight over his hitherto 
cheerless home. The ringing of the bell next morning failed 
to arouse him, but when Mrs. Aldergrass, noticing his absence 
from the table, inquired for him, Uncle Timothy answered, 
‘‘ Never mind, let him sleep—tuckered out, mebby—and you 
know we allus have a sixpence more for an extra meal!”’ 

About eight Mr. Graham arose, and after a more than usu- 
ally careful toilet, he sat down to collect his scattered thoughts, 
for now that the interview was so near, his ideas seemed sud- 
denly to forsake him. From the window he saw Durward de- 
part for his walk, watching him until he disappeared in the dim 
shadow of the woods. 

‘¢T will wait until his return, and let him tell her,’”’ thought 
he, but when 2 half hour or more went by and Durward did 
not come, he concluded to go down and ask to see her by him- 
self. 

In order to do this, it was necessary for him to pass ’Lena’s 
room, the door of which was ajar. She was awake, and hear- 
ing his step, thought it was Mrs. Aldergrass, and called to her. 
A thrill of exquisite delight ran through his frame at the sound 
of her voice, and for an instant he debated the propriety of 
going to her at once. A second call decided him, and ina 
moment he was at her bedside, clasping her in his arms, and 
exclaiming, ‘* My precious "Lena! My daughter! Was noth- 
ing ever told you that I am your father, the husband of your 
angel mother, who lives again in her child—my child—my 
*Lenar ? 9 

For a moment ’Lena’s brain grew dizzy, and she had well- 
nigh fainted, when the sound of Mr. Graham’s voice again 
brought hei back to consciousness. Pressing his lips to her 
white brow, he said, ‘‘Speak to me my daughter. Say that 
you rereive me 4s your father, for such I am.”’ 

Witix lightning rapidity ’Lena’s thoughts traversed the past, 
whose dark mystery was now made plain, and as the thought 
that it *ztght be so—that it was so—flashed upon her, she 
clasped her hands together, exclaiming, ‘‘ AZy father / TJs it 
true? You are not deceiving me?”’ 

‘* Deceive you, darling ?—no,”’ said he. ‘I av your father, 
and Helena Nichols was my wife.’? . 

‘‘Why then did you leave her? Why have you so long left 
me unacknowledged ?’’ asked ’Lena. 


ca 
268 LENA RIVERS. 


Mr. Graham groaned bitterly. The hardest part was yet te 
come, but he met it manfully, telling her the whole story, spar- 
ing not himself in the least, and ending by asking if, after all 
this, she could forgive and love him as her father. 

Raising herself in bed, "Lena wound her arms around his 
neck, and laying her face against his, wept like a little child. 
He felt that he was sufficiently answered, and holding her 
closer to his bosom, he pushed back the clustering curls, kiss- 
ing her again and again, while he said aloud, ‘1 have your 
answer, dearest one; we will never be parted again.” 

So absorbed was he in his newly-recovered treasure, that he 
did not observe the fiery eye, the glittering teeth, and clenched 
fist of Durward Bellmont, who had returned from his walk, and 
who, in coming up to his room, had recognized the tones of 
his father’s voice. Recoiling backward a step or two, he was 
just in time to see ’Lena as she threw herself into Mr. Graham’s 
arms—in time to hear the tender words of endearment lavished 
upon her by his father! Staggering backward, he caught at 
the banister to keep from falling, while a moan of anguish came 
from his ashen lips. Alone in his room, he grew calmer, though 
his heart still quivered with unutterable agony as he strode uf 
and down the room, exclaiming, as he had once done before 
«‘T would far rather see her dead than thus—my lost, low 
Lena!” 

Then, in the deep bitterness of his spirit, he cursed his fathe-, 
whom he believed to be far more guilty than she. ‘‘I cannrt 
meet him,’’ thought he; ‘‘there is murder at my heart, and f 
must away ere he knows of my presence.’ 

Suiting the action to the word, he hastened down the stai.s, 
glancing back once, and seeing ’Lena reclining uron his father’s 
arm, while her eyes were raised to his with a sweet, confiding 
smile, which told of perfect happiness. 

‘“¢Thank God that I am unarmed, else he could not live ’ 
thought he, hurrying into the bar-room, where he placed in 
Uncle Timothy’s hands double the sum due for himself sad 
"Lena, and then, without a word or explanation, he walked 
away. 

He was a good pedestrian, and preferring solitude in nis 
present state of feeling, he determined to go on foot to Cai.an- 
daigua, a distance of little more than a dozen miles. Mean- 
time, Mr. Graham was learning from ’Lena the cause of her 
being there, and though she, as far as possible, softened the 
fact of his having been accessory to her misfortunes, he felt it 


LENA RIVERS. 969 


mone the uss keenly, and would frequently interrupt her 
with the exclamation that it was the result of his cowardice 
—his despicable habit of secrecy. When she spoke of the 
curl which his wife had burned, he seemed deeply affected, 
groaning aloud as he hid his face in his hands. 

‘¢And she found it—she burned it,’”’ said he; ‘‘and it was 
all I had left of my Helena. I cut it from her head on the 
morning of my departure, when she lay sleeping, little dream- 
ing of my cruel desertion. But,’’ he added, ‘‘I can bear it 
better now that I have you, her living image, for what she was 
when last I saw her, you are now.’’ 

Their conversation then turned upon Durward, and with the 
tact he so well knew how to employ, Mr. Graham drew from 
his blushing daughter a confession of the love she bore him. 

‘‘ Fle is worthy of you,”’ said he, while "Lena, without seem- 
ing to heed the remark, said, ‘‘I have not seen him yet, but I 
am expecting him every moment, for he was to visit me this 
morning.”’ : 

At this juncture Mrs. Aldergrass, who had been at one of 
her neighbors’, came in, appearing greatly surprised at the 
sight of the stranger, whom ’Lena quietly introduced as ‘‘ her 
father,’’ while Mr. Graham colored painfully as Mrs. Alder- 
grass, curtsying very low, hoped M/r. Rivers was well! 

«¢ Let it go so,’’ whispered ’Lena, as she saw her father about 
to speak. : 

_Mr. Graham complied, and then observing how anxiously his 
daughter’s eyes sought the doorway, whenever a footstep was 
heard, he asked Mrs. Aldergrass for Mr. Bellmont, saying they 
would like to see him, if he had returned. 

Quickly going downstairs, Mrs. Aldergrass soon came back, 
announcing that ‘‘he’d paid his bill and gone off.” 

‘‘Gone!’’ said Mr. Graham. ‘*There must be some mis- 
take. I will go down and inquire.” 

__ With his hand in his pocket grasping the purse containing 

“the gold, Uncle Timothy told all he knew, adding, that 
«<"twan’t noways likely but he’d come back agin, for he’d left 
things in his room to the vally of five or six dollars.” 

Upon refiection, Mr. Graham concluded so, too, and return- 
ing to ’Lena, he sat by her all day, soothing her with assurances 
that Durward would surely come back, as there was no possible 
teason for his leaving them so abruptly. As the day wore away 
and the night came on he seemed less sure, while even Uncle 
Timothy began to fidget, and when in the evening a young 


270 LENA RIVERS, 


pettifogger, who had recently hung out his shimgle on Laure 
Hill, Came in, he asked him, in a low tone, ‘‘if, under the 
present governor, they Awng folks on circumstantial evidence 
alone.’’ 

‘¢Unquestionably, for that is sometimes the best kind of evi- 
dence,’’ answered the sprig of the law, taking out some little 
ivory tablets and making a charge against Uncle ‘Timothy for 
professional advice ! 

«¢ But if one of my boarders, who has lots of money, goes off 
in broad daylight and is never heard of agin, would that be any 
sign he was murdered—by the landlord?’’ continued Uncle 
Timothy, beginning to think there might be a worse law than 
the Maine liquor law. 

«That depends upon the previous character of the landlord,” 
answered the lawyer, making another entry, while Uncle Tim- 
othy, brightening up, exclaimed, ‘‘1 shall stand the racket, 
then, for my character is tiptop.”’ 

In the morning Mr. Graham announced his intention of go- 
ing in quest of Durward, and with a magnanimity quite praise 
worthy, Uncle Timothy offerea his oss and wagon ‘foi 
nothin’, provided Mr. Graham would leave his watch as a 
guaranty against /zs runnin’ off !”’ 

Just as Mr. Graham was about to start, a horseman rode up, 
saying he had come from Canandaigua at the request of a Mr. 
Bellmont, who wished him to bring letters for Mr. Graham and 
Miss Rivers. 

‘«¢And where is Mr. Bellmont?’’? asked Mr. Graham, to 
which the man replied, that he took the six o’clock train the 
night before, saying, further, that his manner was so strange as 
to induce a suspicion of insanity on the part of those who saw 
him. 

Taking the package, Mr. Graham repaired to ’Lena’s room, 
giving her her letter, and then reading his, which was full of 
bitterness, denouncing him as a villain and cautioning him, as 
he valued his life, never again to cross the track of his outraged 
stepson. . 

‘¢ You have robbed me,”’ he wrote, ‘‘ of all I hold most dear, 
and while I do not censure her the less, I blame you the more, 
for you are older in experience, older in years, and tenfold 
older in sin, and I know you must have used every art your 
foul nature could suggest, ere you won my lost ’Lena from the 
path of rectitude.” 

In the utmost astonishment Mr. Graham looked up at ’Lena, 





LENA RIVERS. O71 


who hau iaintad. It was long ere she returned to conscious- 
ness, and then her fainting fit was followed by another more 
severe, if possible, than the first, while in speechless agony Mr. 
Graham hung over her. 

“‘] killed the mother, and now I am killing the child,” 
thought he. 

But at last "Lena seemed better, and taking from the pillow 
the crumpled note, she passed it toward het father, bidding him 
read it. It was as follows: 


‘¢My Lost ’Lena: By this titie it seems appropriate for 
me to call you, for you are more surely lost to me than you 
would be were this summer sun shining upon your grave. And, 
’Lena, believe me when I say I would rather, far rather, see you 
ead than the guilty thing you are, for then your memory would 
be to me as a holy, blessed influence, leading me on to a better 
world, where I could hope to greet you as my spirit bride. But 
now, alas! how dark the cloud which shrouds you from my 
sight. 

‘¢Oh, ’Lena, "Lena, how could you deceive me thus, when I 
thought you so pure and innocent, when even now, I would 
willingly lay down my life could that save you from ruin. 

‘‘Do you ask what I mean? I have only to refer you to 
what this morning took place between you and the vile man I 
once called father, and whom I believed to be the soul of truth 
and honor. With a heart full of tenderness toward you, I was 
hastening to your side, when a scene met my view which stilled 
the beatings of my pulse and curdled the very blood in my 
veins. I saw you throw your arms around /zs neck—the hus- 
band of my mother. [saw you lay your head upon his bosom. 
I heard him as he called you dearest, and said you would never 
be parted again ! 

«You know all that has passed heretofore, and can you won- 
der that my worst fears are now confirmed? God knows how 
I struggled against those doubts, which were nearly removed, 
when, by the evidence of my own eyesight, uncertainty was 
made sure. 

«‘ And now my once loved, but erring ’Lena, farewell. Iam 
going away—whither, I know not, care not, so that I never hear 
your name coupled with disgrace. Another reason why I go, 
is that the hot blood of the south burns too fiercely in my veins 

to suffer me #0 meet your destroyer and not raise my hand 
against him. When this reaches you, I shall be faraway. But 


212 LENA RIVERS. 


what matters it to your And yet, "Lena, there will come a 
time when you'll remember one who, had you remained true te 
yourself, would have devoted his life to make you happy, for J 
know I am not indifferent to you. I have read it in your speak: 
ing eye, and in the childlike confidence with which you would 
yield to me when no one else cou! control your wild ravings. 
«*But enough of this. Time rastens, and I must say fare- 
weli-—farewell forever—my Zos¢, cost ’Lena i 
s¢ DURWARD.”* 


Gradually as ¥ Graham read, he felt a glow of indigna- 
fion at Durward’s asastiness. ‘‘ Rash boy! he might at least 
have spoken with me,”’ said he, as he finished the letter, but 
“Lena would hear no word of censure against him. She did 
not blame him. She saw it all, understood it all, and as she 
recalled the contents of his letter, her own heart sadly echoed, 
*¢ Jost forever.** 

As well as he was able, Mr. Graham tried to comfort her, but 
in spite of his endeavors, there was still at her heart the same 
dull, heavy pain, and most anxiously Mr. Graham watched her, 
waiting impatiently for the time when she would be able to start 
for home, as he hoped a change of place and scene would doa 
much toward restoring both her health and spirits. Soon after 
his arrival at Laurel Hill, Mr. Graham had written to Mr, Liv- 
ingstone, telling him what he had before told his wife, and 
adding, *‘ Of course, my daughter’s home will in future be with 
me, at Woodlawn, where I shall be happy to see yourself and 
family at any time.” 

This part of the letter he showed to Lena, who, after reading 
it seemed for a long time absorbed in thought. 

‘¢ What is it darling? Of what are you thinking?” Mr. Gra- 
ham asked, at length, and ‘Lena, taking the hand which he 
had laid gently upon her forehead, replied, «* I am thinking of 
poor grandmother. She is not happy, now, at Maple Grove. 
She will be more unhappy should I leave her, and if you please, 
I would rather stay there with her. I can see you every day.” 

‘*Do you suppose me cruel enough to separate you from 
your grandmother?” interrupted Mr. Graham. ‘No, no, I 
am not quite so bad as that. Woodlawn is large—there are 
zooms enough—-and grandma shall have her choice, provides. 
it is a reasonable one.”* 

‘¢Anc your wite—Mrs. Graham? What will she say?* 
imidly inguived “Lena, mvoluntarily shcinking from the very 





LENA RIVERS. 273 


theught of coming in contact with the little lady who had so 
recently come up before her in the new and formidable aspect 
of stepmother / 

Mr. Graham did not know himself what she would say, 
neither did he care. ‘The fault of his youth once confessed, he 
felt himself a new man, able to cope with almost anything, and 
if in the future his wife objected to what he knew to be right, 
it would do her no good, for henceforth he was to rule his own | 
house. Some such thoughts passed through his mind, but it 
would not be proper, he knew, to express himself thus to "Lena, 
so he laughingly replied, ‘‘ Oh, we’ll fix that, easily enough.’’ 

At the time he wrote to Mr. Livingstone, he had also sent a 
letter to his wife, announcing his safe return from Europe, and 
saying that he should be at home as soon as ’Lena’s health would 
admit of her traveling. Not wishing to alarm her unnecessa- 
rily, he merely said of Durward, that he had found him at 
Laurel Hill. To this letter Mrs. Graham replied immediately, 
and w:th a far better grace than her husband had expected. 
Very frankly she confessed the unkind part she had acted 
toward ’Lena, and while she said she was sorry, she also spoke 
of the reaction which had taken place in the minds of ’Lena’s 
friends, who, she said, would gladly welcome her back. 

The continued absence of Durward was now the only draw- 
back to ’Lena’s happiness, and with a comparatively light 
heart, she began to anticipate her journey home. Most 
liberally did Mr. Graham pay for both himself and "Lena, and 
Uncle Timothy, as he counted the shining coin, dropping it 
upon the table to make sure it was not dogus, felt quite re- 
conciled to his recent loss of fifty dollars. Jerry, the driver, 
was also generously rewarded for his kindness to the stranger- 
girl, and just before he left, Mr. Graham offered to make him 
his chief overseer, if he would accompany him to Kentucky. 

‘¢ You are just the man I want,” said he, ‘‘and I know 
you'll like it. What do you say?” 

For the sake of occasionally seeing "Lena, whom he con- 
sidered as something more than mortal, Jerry would gladly 
have gone, but he was a staunch abolitionist, dyed in the wool, 
and scratching his head, he replied, ‘I’m Obleeged to you, 
but I b’leve I'd rather drive esses than niggers /”" 

‘‘Mebby you could run one on ’em off, and so make a little 
sumthin’,”’ slyly whispered Uncle Timothy, his eyes always on 
the main chance, but it was no part of Jerry’s creed to make 
anything, and as ’Lena at that moment appeared, Re beat a 


O14 LENA RIVERS. 


precipitate retreat, going out behind the church, where he 
watched the departure of his southern friends, saying after- 
ward to Mrs. Aldergrass, who chided him for his conduct, that 
‘‘he never could bid nobody good-bye, he was so darned 
tender-hearted i ”’ 





CHAPTER XXXV. 
EXCITEMENT AT MAPLE GROVE. 


‘s’LrenA been gone four weeks and father never stirred a peg 
after her! ‘That zs smart, I must say. Why didn’t you let 
me know it before!’’ exclaimed John Jr., as he one morning 
unexpectedly made his appearance at Maple Grove. 

During his absence Carrie had been his only correspondent, 
and for some reason or other she delayed telling him of ’Lena’s 
flight until quite recently. Instantly forgetting his resolution 
af not returning for a year, he came home with headlong 
haste, determining to start immediately after his cousin. 

‘‘T reckon if you knew all that has been said about her, you 
wouldn’t feel quite so anxious to get her back,’’ said Carrie. 
‘¢ For my part, I feel quite relieved at her absence.” 

««Shut up your head,’’ roared John Jr. ‘‘’Lena is no more 
guilty than you. By George, I ’’most cried when I heard how 
nobly she worked to save Anna from old Baldhead. And this 
is her reward! Gracious Peter! I sometimes wish there 
wasn’t a woman in the world !’’ 

«Tf they’d all marry you, there wouldn’t belong !”’ retorted 
Carrie. i 

‘¢You’ve said it now, haven’t you?’’ answered John Jr., 
while his father suggested that they stop quarreling, adding, as 
an apology for his own neglect, that Durward had gone after 
’Lena, who was probably at Mr. Everett’s, and that he himself 
had advertised in ail the principal papers. 

‘¢ Just like Bellmont! He’s a fine fellow and deserves ’Lena, 
if anybody does,’’ exclaimed John Jr., while Carrie chimed in, 
‘‘Pshaw! I’ve no idea he’s gone for her. Why, they’ve 
hardly spoken for several months, and besides that, Mrs. Gra- 
ham will never suffer him to marry one of so low origin. ’’ 

‘The deary me!” said John Jr., mimicking his sister’s 
manner, ‘‘ how much lower is her origin than yours ?” 

Carrie’s reply was prevented by the appearance of her 


KENA RIVERS. 275 


grandmother, who, hearing that John Jr. was there, had hob- 
bled in to see him. Perfectly rational on all other subjects, 
Mrs. Nichols still persisted in saying of ’Lena, that she had 
killed her, and now, when her first greeting with John Jr. was 
ever she whispered in his ear, ‘‘ Have they told you ’Lena was 
dead? She is—I killed her—it says so here,’’ and she handed 
him the almost worn-out note which she constantly carried 
with her. Rough as he seemed at times, there was in John 
Jr.’s nature many a tender spot, and when he saw the look of 
childish imbecility on his grandmother’s face, he pressed his 
strong arm around her, and a tear actually dropped upon her 
grey hair as he told her ’Lena was not dead—he was going to 
find her and bring her home. At that moment old Cesar, 
who had been to the post office, returned, bringing Mr. Gra- 
ham’s letter, which had just arrived. : 

‘¢That’s Mr. Graham’s handwriting,’’ said Carrie, glancing 
at the superscription. ‘‘ Perhaps fe knows something of 
*Lena!’’ and she looked meaningly at her mother, who, with 
a peculiar twist of her mouth, replied, ‘‘ Very likely.” 

‘You are right. He does know something of her,’ said 
Mr. Livingstone, as he finished reading the letter. ‘‘She is 
with him at a little village called Laurel Hill, somewhere in New 
York.” 

««There! I told you so. Poor Mrs. Graham. It will kill 
her. I must go and see her immediately,’’ exclaimed Mrs. 
Livingstone, settling herself back quite composedly in her 
chair, while Carrie, turning to her brother, asked ‘‘ what he 
thought of ’Lena now.”’ 

<¢ Juss what I always did,’’ he replied.. ‘There’s fraud 
somewhere. Will you let me see that, sir? ’’ advancing to- 
ward his father, who, placing the letter in his hand, walked to 
the window to hide the varied emotions of his face. 

Rapidly John Jr. perused it, comprehending the whole, then, 
when it was finished, he seized his hat, and throwing it up in 
the at, shouted, ‘‘ Hurrah! Hurrah for Miss ’Lena Rivers 
Graham, daughter of the Honorable Harry Rivers Graham. 
I was never so glad in my life. Hurrah!’ and again the hat 
went up, upsetting in its descent a costly vase, the fragments 
of which followed in the direction of the hat, as the young 
man capered about the room, perfectly insane with joy. 

‘¢JIs the boy crazy ?”’ asked Mrs. Livingstone, catching him 
by the coat as he passed her, while Carrie attempted to snatch 
the letter from his hand. 


xX 


276 LENA RIVERS. 


«‘ Crazy ?—yes,’’ said he. ‘‘ Who do you think "Lena’s 
father is? No less a person than Mr. Graham himself. Now 
taunt her again, Cad, with her low origin, if you like. She 
isn’t coming here to live any more. She’s going to Woodlawn. 
She’ll marry Durward, while you’ll be a cross, dried-up old 
maid, eh, Cad?’’ and he chucked her under the chin, while 
she began to cry, bidding him let her alone. 

‘“What do you mean?” interposed Mrs. Livingstone, 
trembling lest it might be true. 

‘«‘T will read the letter and you can judge for yourself,’’ re- 
plied John. 

Both Carrie and her mother were too much astonished to 
utter a syllable, while, in their hearts, each hoped it would prove 
untrue. Bending forward, grandma had listened eagerly, her 
dim eye lighting up as she occasionally caught the meaning of 
what she heard; but she could not understand it at once, and 
turning to her son, she said, ‘‘ What is it, John? what does it 
mean ?’’ 

As well as they could, Mr. Livingstone and John Jr. ex- 
plained it to her, and when at length she comprehended it, in 
her own peculiar way she exclaimed, ‘‘ Thank God that ’Leny 
is a lady, at last—as good as the biggest on ’em. Oh, I wish 
Helleny had lived to know who her husband was. Poor crit- 
ter! Mebby he’ll give me money to go back and see the old 
place, once more, afore I die.” | 

‘If he don’t I will,”’ said Mr. Livingstone, upon which his 
wife, who had not spoken before, wondered ‘‘ where he’d get 
ict 

By this time Carrie had comforted herself with the assurance 
that as ’Lena was now Durward’s sister, he would not, of 
course, marry her, and determining to make the best of it, she 
replied to her brother, who rallied her on her crestfallen looks, 
that he was greatly mistaken, for ‘‘she was as pleased as any 
one at *ILena’s good fortune, but it did not follow that she must 
make a fool of herself, as some others did.”’ 

The closing part of this remark was lost on John Jr., who 
had left the room. In the first excitement, he had thought 
**how giad Nellie will be,’’ and acting, as he generally did, 
upon impulse, he now ordered his horse, and dashing off at full 
speed, as usual, surprised Nellie, first with his sudden appear- 
ance, second, with his announcement of ’Lena’s parentage, and 
third, by an offer of himself! 

** It’s your destiny,’’ said he, *‘ and it’s of no use to resist. 


LENA RIVERS. ad 


What did poor little Meb die for, if it wasn’t to make room for 
you. So you may as well say yes first as last. i’m odd, I 
know, but you can fix me over. I'll do exactly what you wish 
me to. Say yes, Nellie, won’t you?”’ 

And Nellie did say yes, wondering, the while, if ever before 
woman had such wooing. We think not, for never was there 
another John Jr. 

‘‘T have had happiness enough for one day,” said he, kiss- 
ing her blushing cheek and hurrying away. 

As if every hitherto neglected duty were now suddenly re- 
membered, he went straight from Mr. Douglass’s to the marble 
factory, where he ordered a costly stone for the little grave on 
the sunny slope, as yet unmarked saved by the tall grass and 
rank weeds which grew above it. 

_ What inscription will you have?’’ asked the engraver. 
John Jr. thought for a moment, and then replied, ‘* Simply 
‘Mabel.’ Nothing more or less; that tells the whole story,’’ 
and involuntarily murmuring to himself, ‘‘ Poor little Meb, I 
wish she knew how happy I am,’’ he started for home, where 
he was somewhat surprised to find Mrs. “Graham. 

She had also received a letter from her husband, and deem- 
ing secrecy no longer advisable, had come over to Maple 
Grove, where, to her great satisfaction, she found that the 
news had preceded her. Feeling sure that Mrs. Graham must 
feel greatly annoyed, both Carrie and her mother began, at 
first, to act the part of consolers, telling her it might not be 
true, after all, for perhaps it was a ruse of Mr. Graham’s to 
cover some deep-laid scheme. But for once in her life Mrs. 
Graham did well, and to their astonishment, replied, “‘ Oh, I 
hope not, for you do not know how f long for the society of a 
‘daughter, and as Mr. Graham’s child I shall gladly welcome 
*Lena home, trying. if possible, to overlook the vulgarity of her 
family friends!’ 

Though wincing terribly, neither Mrs. Livingstone nor her 
‘daughter were to be outgeneraled. If Mrs. Graham could so 
‘soon change her tactics, so could they, and for the next half 
/hour they lauded ’Lena to the skies. They had always liked 
‘her—particularly Mrs. Livingstone—who said, ‘If allowed to 
speak my mind, Mrs. Graham, I must say that I have felt a 
good deal pained by those reports which you put in circulation.” 

‘‘f put reports in circulation!’’ retorted Mrs. Graham. 
‘What do you mean? It was yourself, madam, as I can 
prove by the whole neighborhood ! ”” 


278 LENA BIVERS. 


The war of words was growing sharper and more personal, 
when John Jr.’s appearance put an end to it, and the twe 
ladies, thinking they might as well be friends as enemies, intro- 
duced another topic of conversation, soon after which Mrs. 
Graham took her leave. Pausing in the doorway, she said, 
‘¢Would it afford you any gratification to be at Woodlawn 
when ’Lena arrives P’’ 

Knowing that, under the circumstances, it would look better, 
Mrs. Livingstone said ** yes,’’ while Carrie, thinking Durward 
would be there, made a similar reply, saying ‘‘she was exceed- 
ingly anxious to see her cousin.”’ 

‘¢ Very well. I will let you know when I expect her,”’ said 
Mrs. Graham, curtsying herself from the room. 

‘Spell Zoady, Cad,’’ whispered John Jr., and with more 
than her usual quickness, Carrie replied, by doing as he de- 
sired. 

<< That'll do,” said he. as he walked off to the back yard, 
where he found the younger portion of the blacks engaged in a 
rather novel employment for them. 

The news of ’Lena’s good fortune had reached the kitchen, 
causing much excitement, for she was a favorite there. 

‘¢’Clar for’t,’’ said Aunt Milly, ‘‘ we orto have a bonfire. It 
won’t hurt nothin’ on the brick pavement.”’ 

Accordingly, as it was now dark, the children were set at 
work gathering blocks, chips, sticks, dried twigs, and leaves. 
and by the time John Jr. appeared, they had collected quite a 
pile. Not knowing how he would like it, they all took to their 
heels, except Thomas Jefferson, who, having some of his 
mother’s spirit, stood his ground, replying, when asked what 
they were about. that they were ‘‘gwine to celebrate Miss 
"Lena. Taking in the whole fun at once, John Jr. called 
out, << Good ! come back here, you scapegraces.’’ 

Scarcelv had he uttered these words, when from behind the 
lye-leack. the smokehouse and the trees, emerged the little 
darkies, their eyes and ivories shining with the expected frolic. 
Taught >» jenn Jr., they hurrahed at the top of their voices 
when the ‘lames burst up, and one little fellow, not yet able to 
talk plain, made his bare, shining legs fly like drumsticks as he 
shouted, ‘‘ Huyah for Miss "Leny Yivers Gayum’’— 

‘¢ Bellmont, too. say,’? whispered John Jr., as he saw Carrie 
on the bark piazzz. } 

“<< Belimont, too, say !’’ yelled the youngster, leaping se 
high as to lose his balance. 


LENA RIVERS. 279 


Rolling over the greensward like a ball, he landed at the 
feet of Carrie, who, spurning him as she would a toad, went 
back to the parlor, where for more than an hour she cried from 
pure vexation. 





CHAPTER XXXVI. 
ARRIVAL AT WOODLAWN. 


It was a warm September night at Woodlawn. The win- 
dows were open, and through the richly-wrought curtains the 
balmy air of evening was stealing, mingling its delicious per- 
fume of flowers without with the odor of those which drooped 
from the many costly vases which adorned the handsome par- 
lors. Lamps were burning, casting a mellow light over the 
gorgeous furniture, while in robes of snowy white the mistress 
of the mansion flitted from room to room, a little nervous, a 
little fidgety, and, without meaning to be so, a little cross. For 
more than two hours she had waited for her husband, delaying 
the supper, which the cook, quite as anxious as herself, pro- 
nounced spoiled by the delay. 

According to promise the party from Maple Grove had ar- 
rived, with the exception of John Jr., who had generously re- 
mained with his grandmother, she having been purposely 
omitted in the invitation. From the first, Mrs. Graham had 
decided that Mrs. Nichols should never live at Woodlawn, and 
she thought it proper to have it understood at once. Accord- 
ingly, as she was conducting Mrs. Livingstone and Carrie to 
*Lena’s room, she casually remarked, ‘‘ I’ve made no provision 
for Mrs. Nichols, except as an occasional visitor, for of course 
she will remain with her son. She is undoubtedly much at- 
tached to your family, and will be happier there!” 

«© This "Lena’s!” interrupted Carrie, ere her mother had 
time toreply. ‘It’s the very best chamber in the house—Brus- 
sels carpets, marble and rosewood furniture, damask curtains. 
Why, she’ll hardly know how to act,’’ she continued, half 
anconsciously, as she gazed around the elegant apartment, 
which, with one of her unaccountable freaks, Mrs. Graham 
had fitted up with the utmost taste. 

«Yes, this is ’Lena’s,’’ said Mrs. Graham, complacently. 
«¢ Will it compare at all with her chamber at Maple Grove? I 
do not wish it to seem inferior ! ’’ 


280 ZENA RIVERS. 


Carrie bit her lip, while her mother very ceolly replic., 
‘¢ Ye-es, on the whole guzfe as good, perhaps better, as some 
of the furniture is new !”’ 

«‘Have I told you,’’ continued Mrs. Graham, bent on tor- 
menting them,—‘‘have I told you that we are to spend the 
winter in New Orleans, where ’Lena will of course be the reign- 
ing belle? You ought to be there, dear,’’ laying her hand on 
Carrie’s shoulder. ‘It would be so gratifying to you to wit- 
ness the sensation she will create ! ”’ 

‘< Spiteful old thing—she tries to insult us,’’ thought Carrie, 
her heart swelling with bitterness toward the ever-hated ’Lena, 
whose future life seemed so bright and joyous. 

The sound of wheels was now heard, and the ladies reached 
the lower hall just as the carriage, which had been sent to the 
station at Midway, drove up at a side door. Carrie’s first 
thought was for Durward, and shading her eyes with her hand, 
she looked anxiously out. But only Mr. Graham alighted, 
gently lifting out his daughter, who was still an invalid. 

‘‘Mighty careful of her,’’ thought Mrs. Livingstone, as in 
his arms he bore her up the marble steps. 

Depositing her in their midst, and placing his arm around 
her, he said, turning to his wife, ‘‘ Lucy, this is my daughter. 
Will you receive and love her as such, for my sake ?”’ 

In a moment ’Lena’s soft, white hand lay in the fat, chubby 
one of Mrs. Graham, who kissed her pale cheek, calling her 
*¢ Lena,’’ and saying ‘‘ she was welcome to Woodlawn.” | 

Mrs. Livingstone and Carrie now pressed forward, over- 
whelming her with caresses, telling her how badly they had felt 
at her absence, chiding her for running away, calling her a 
naughty puss, and perfectly bewildering her with their new 
mode of conduct. Mr. Livingstone’s turn came next, but he 
neither kissed nor caressed her, for that was not in keeping 
with his nature, but very, very tenderly he looked into her 
eyes, as he said, ‘‘ You know, ’Lena, that 7 am glad—most 
giad for you.” 

Unostentatious as was this greeting, ’Lena felt that there was 
more sincerity in it than all that had gone before, and the tears 
gushed forth involuntarily. Mentally styling her, the one ‘‘a 
baby,’’ and the other ‘‘a fool,’’ Mrs. Livingstone and Carrie 
returned to the parlor, while Mrs. Graham, calling a servant, 
bade her show ’Lena to her room. 

‘«Fjadn’t you better go up and assist your cousin,’’ whispered. 
Mrs. Livmgstone to Carrie, who forthwith departed, knocking 


eg, 


wer 


LENA RIVERS. oS) 


at the door, an act of politeness she had never befure thought 
it necessary to offer "Lena. But she was an Aeiress, now, 
fully, yes, more than equal, and thac made a vast difference. 

‘¢T came to see if I could render you any service,” she said 
in answer to ’Lena’s look of inquiry. 

‘‘ No I thank you,”’ returned ’Lena, beginning to get an ink- 
ling of the truth. ‘‘ You know I’m accustomed to waiting upon 
myself, and if I want anything, Drusa can assist me. I’ve 
only te change my soiled dress and smooth my hair,’’ she con- 
tinued, as she shook out her long and now rather rough tresses. 

‘‘What handsome hair you’ve got,’’ said Carrie, taking one 
of the curls in her hand. ‘‘I’d forgotten it was so beautful. 
Hasn’t it improved during your absence? ”’ 

‘¢ A course of fever is not usually very beneficial to one’s 
hair, I beiieve,’’ answered ’Lena, as she proceeded to brush and 
arrange her wavy locks, which really had lost some of their 
luster. , 

Foiled in her attempt at toadyism, Carrie took another tack. 
Looking "Lena in the face, she said, ‘‘ What is it? I can’t 
make it cut, but—but somehow you’ve changed, you don’t 
iook so—so’’ — 

**So well you would say,  ppose,”’ returned ’Lena, laugh- 
ingly, ‘‘ I’ve grown thin, but 1 hope to improve by and by.”’ 

Drusa glanced at the two girls as they stood side by side, 
and her large eyes sparkled as she thought her young mistress 
‘a heap the best lookin’ zow.”’ 

By this time Carrie had thought to ask for Durward. In- 
stantly "Lena turned whiter, if possible, than she was before, 
and in an timsteady voice she replied, that ‘* she did not know.”’ 

«< Not know !’’ repeated Carrie, her own countenance bright- 
ening visibly. ‘‘ Haven’t you seen him? Wasn’t he at that 
funny, out-of-the-way place, where you were ?”’ 

*¢ Yes, but he left before I saw him,’’ returned ’Lena, her 
manner plainly indicating that there was something wrong. 

Carrie’s spirits rose. There was a chance for her, and on 
their way dewnstairy she laughed and chatted s9 familiarly, 
that "Lena wondered if it could be the same haughty girl wha 
had seldom spoken to her except to repulse or command her, 
The supper-deli rang just as they reached the parlor, and Mr. 
Graham, taking ’Lena on his arm, led the way to the dining- 
room, where the entire silver tea-set had been brought out, in 
honor of the cccasion. 

es Fiasn’t ’"Lena changed, mother?’’ said Carrie, feeling 


989. LENA RIVERS. 


hateful, and knowing no better way of showing it. ‘Hasn’t 
her sickness changed her ?’”” 

‘‘It has made her grow o/d; that’s all the difference I per- 
ceive,’’ returned Mrs. Livingstone, satisfied that she’d said the 
thing which she knew would most annoy herself. 

‘‘How old are you, dear?’’ asked Mrs. Graham, leaning 
across the table. . 

‘‘Kighteen,’’ was ’Lena’s answer, to which Mrs. Graham re- 
plied, ‘“‘I thought so. Three years younger than Carrie, | 
believe.’’ 

‘Two, only two,’’ interrupted Mrs. Livingstone, while Car- 
rie exclaimed, ‘‘ Horrors! How old do you take me to be!”’ 

Adroitly changing the conversation, Mrs. Graham made no 
reply, and soon after they rose from the table. Scarcely had 
they returned to the parlor, when John Jr. was announced. 
‘‘He had,’’ he said, ‘‘got his grandmother to sleep and put 
her to bed, and now he had come to pay his respects to A/Zéss 
Graham.” 

Catching her in his arms, he exclaimed, ‘Little girl! I’m 
as much delighted with your good fortune as I should be had 
it happened to myself. But where is Bellmont?” he con- 
tinued, looking about the room. 

Mr. Graham replied that he was not there. 

‘‘Not here?’’ repeated John Jr. ‘‘ What have you done 
with aim, ’Lena?’’ 

Lifting her eyes, full of tears, to her cousin’s face, "Lena 
said, softly, ‘‘ Please don’t talk about it now.”’ 

‘‘'There’s something wrong,’’ thought John Jr. ‘I'll bet 
I'll have to shoot that dog yet.’’ 

"Lena longed to pour out her troubies to some one, and 
knowing she could confide in John Jr., she soon found an op- 
portunity of whispering to him, ‘‘ Come to-morrow, and I will 
tell you all about it.’’ 

Between ten and eleven the company departed, Mrs. Living- 
stone and Carrie taking a most affectionate leave of ’Lena, urg- 
ing her not to fail of coming over the next day, as they should 
be expecting her. The ludicrous expression of John Jr.’s face 
was a sufficient interpretation of his thoughts, as whispering 
aside to ’Lena, he said, ‘‘I can’t do it justice if I try! ”’ 

The next morning Mr. Graham got out his carriage to carry 
*Lena to Maple Grove, asking his wife to accompany them. 
But she excused herself, on the plea of a headache, and they 
set off without her. The meeting between ’Lena and her 


LENA RIVERS. 283 


prandmother was affecting, and Carrie, in order to sustain the 
character she had assumed, walked to the window, to hide her 
emotions, probably—at leas! John Jr. thought so, for with the 
utmost gravity he passed her his silk pocket handkerchief! . 
When the first transports’ of her interview with ’Lena were 
over, Mrs. Nichols fastened herself upon Mr, Graham, while 
John Jr. invited ’Lena tc the garden, where he claimed from 
her the promised story, which she told him unreservedly. 

‘¢Oh, that’s nothing, compared with myy experience,’’ said 
John Jr., plucking at the rich, purple grapes which hung in 
heavy clusters above his head. ‘‘ That’s easily settled. I'll go 
after Durward myself, and bring him back, either dead or alive 
—the latter if possible, the former if necessary. So cheer up. 
I’ve faith to believe that you and Durward will be married 
about the same time that Nellie and I are. We are engaged— 
did I tell you?” 

Involuntarily ’Lena’s eyes wandered in the direction of the 
sunny slope and the little grave, as yet but nine months made. 

‘‘¥ know what you think,” said John Jr., rather testily, 
‘*but hang me if I can help it. Meb was never intended for 
me, except by mother. I suppose there is in the world some. 
body for whom she was made, but it wasn’t I, and that’s the 
reason she died. I am sorry as anybody, and every night iv 
my life I think of poor Meb, who loved me so well, and whv 
met with so poor areturn. I’ve bought her some gravestones, 
though,”’ he continued, as if that were an ample atonement for 
the past. 

While they were thus occupied, Mr. Graham was discussing 
with Mrs. Nichols the propriety of her removing to Woodlawn. 

‘i shan’t live long to trouble anybody,”’ said she, when 
askea if she would like to go, ‘and I’m nothin’ without 
’Leny.”’ 

So it was arranged that she should go with him, and when 
*Lena veturned to the house, she found her grandmother in her 
cham.cz, packing up, preparatory to her departure. 

‘‘ We'll have to come agin,’’ said she, ‘‘ for I’ve as much as 
two loads.”’ 

‘¢Don’t take them,” interposed "Lena, ‘‘ You won’t need 
them, and nothing will |:arm them here.’’ 

After a little, grandma was persuaded, and her last charge to 
Mrs. Livingstone and Carrie was, ‘‘that they keep the dum 
niggers from her things.”’ 

Habit with Mrs. Nichols was everything. She had lived at 


984 LENA RIVERS. 


Maple Grove for years, and every niche and corner of her room 
she understood. She knew the blacks and they knew her, and 
ere she was half-way to Woodlawn. she began to wish she had 
not started. Politely, but coldly, Mrs. Graham received her, 
saying, ‘‘I thought, perhaps, you would return with them to 
spend the day /’’ laying great emphasis on the last words, as if 
that, of course, was to be the limit of her visit. Grandma 
understood it, and it strengthened her resolution of not remain- 
ing long. 

‘‘Miss Graham don’t want to be pestered with me,’’ said she 
to ’Lena, the first time they were alone, ‘‘and I don’t mean 
that she shall be. ’Tilda is used to me, and she don’t mind it 
now, so I shall go back afore long. You can come to see me 
every day, and once in a while I'll come here.”’ 

That afternoon a heavy rain came on, and Mrs. Graham re- 
marked to Mrs. Nichols that ‘‘she hoped she was not home- 
sick, as there was every probability of her being obliged to stay 
over night /’’ adding, by way of comfort, that ‘she was going 
to Frankfort the next day to make purchases for "Lena and 
would take her home.’’ 

Accordingly, the next morning Mrs. Livingstone was not 
very agreeably surprised by the return of her mother-in-law, 
who, Mrs. Graham said, ‘‘ was so homesick they couldn’t keep 
her."” 

That night when Mrs. Graham, who was naturally generous, 
returned from the city, she left at Maple Grove a large bundle 
for grandma, consisting of dresses, aprons, caps, and the like, 
which she had purchased as a sort of peace-offering, or reward, 
rather, for her having decamped so quietly from Woodlawn. 
But the poor old lady did not live to wear them. Both her 
mind and body were greatly impaired, and for two or three 
years she had been failing gradually. ‘There was no particular 
disease, but a general breaking up of the springs of life, and a 
few weeks after ’Lena’s arrival at Woodlawn, they made an- 
eet grave on the sunny slope, and Mabel no longer siept 

one. | 


LENA RIVERS. 285 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 


DURWARD. 

From place to place and from scene to scene Durward had 
hurried, caring nothing except to forget, if possible, the past, 
and knowing not where he was going, until he at last found 
himseif in Richmond, Virginia. This was his mother’s birth- 
place, and as several of her more distant relatives were still 
living here, he determined to stop for a while, hoping that new 
objects and new scenes would have some power to rouse him 
from the lethargy into which he had fallen. Constantly in 
terror fest he should hear of ’Lena’s disgrace, which he felt 
sure would be published to the world, he had, since his depart- 
ure from Laurel Hill, resolutely refrained from looking in a 
newspaper, until one morning some weeks after his arrival at 
Richmond. 

Entering a reading-room, he caught up the Cincinnati Ga- 
zette, and after assuring himself by a hasty glance that it did 
aot contain what he so much dreaded to see, he sat down to 
sead it, paying no attention to the date, which was three or 
sour weeks back. Accidentally he cast his eye over the list of 
arrivals at the Burnet House, seeing among them the names of 

‘Mr. H. R. Graham, and Miss L. R. Graham, Woodford 
county, Kentucky !”’ 

«¢ Audacious / Wow dare they be so bold!” he exclaimed, 
springing to his feet and tearing the paper in fragments, which 
ae scattered upon the floor. 

‘«‘ Considerable kind of uppish, ’pears to me,’’ said a strange 
voice, having in its tone the nasal twang peculiar to a certain 
class ot Yankees. 

Looking up, Durward saw before him a young man in whose 
style of dress and freckled face we at once recognize Joel Slo 
cum. Wearying of Cincinnati, as he had before done with 
Lexington, he had traveled at last to Virginia. Remembering 
to have heard that his grandmother’s aunt had married, died, 
and left a daughter in Richmond, he determined, if possible, 
to find some trace of her. Accordingly, he had come on to 
that city, making it the theatre of his daguerrean operations. 


‘¥ 


986 ' LENA RIVERS. 


‘These alone not being sufficient to support him, he had latterly 
turned his attention to Uterary pursuits, being at present en- 
gaged in manufacturing a book after the Sam Slick order, which, 
to use his own expression, *‘ he expected would have a thun- 
derin’ sale.” 

In order to sustain the new character which he had assumed, 
he came every day to the reading-room, tumbling over books 
and papers, generally carrying one of the former in his hand. 
affecting an utter disregard of his personal appearance, daunp. 
ing his fingers with ink, wiping them on the pocket of his coat, 
and doing numerous other things which he fancied wouic 
stamp him a distinguished person. 

On the morning of which we have spoken, Joel’s attention 
was attracted toward Durward, whose daguerreotype he haa 
seen at Maple Grove, and though he did not recognize the 
original, he fancied he might have met him before, and was 
about making his acquaintance, when Durward’s action drew 
from him the remark we have mentioned. ‘Thinking him to be 
some impertinent fellow, Durward paid him no attention, ana 
was about leaving, when, hitching his chair a little nearer, Joe: 
said, ‘‘ Be you from Virginny P”’ 

<No.”’ 

‘‘From York state?” 

“*No.”’ 

‘«From Pennsylvany ?”’ 

NG. 

‘‘ Mebby, then, you are from Kentucky?” 

No answer. 

<¢ Be you from Kentucky ?”’ 

mY Coun 

‘¢Do you know Mr. Graham’s folks?” 

‘¢ Yes,’”’ said Durward, trembling lest the next should be 
something concerning his stepfather—but it was not. 

Settling himself a little further back in the chair, Joel con- 
tinued: ‘Wall, I calkerlate that I’m some relation to Miss 
Graham. Be you ’quainted with her?’”’ 

Durward knew that a relationship with 1/rs. Graham also 
implied a relationship with himself, and feeling a little curious 
as well as somewhat amused, he replied, ‘‘ Related to Mrs. 
Graham! Pray how?”’ 

‘‘ Why, you see,’’ said Joel, ‘that my grandmarm’s aunt— 
she was younger than grandmarm, and was her aunt tew. 
Wall, she went off to Virginia to teach music, and so married 


ae 


LENA RIVERS. 287 


a nabob—know what that is, I s’pose; she had one gal and 
died, and this gal was never heard from until I took it into my 
head, to look her up, and I’ve found out that she was Lucy 
Temple. She married an Englishman, first—then a man from 
South Carolina, who is now livin’ in Kentucky, between Vei- 
sailles and Frankfort.’’ 

‘‘What was your grandmother’s aunt’s name?”’ asked Du» 
ward. 

‘¢Susan Howard,’’ returned Joel. ‘* The Howards were « 
stuck-up set, grandmarm and all—not a bit like t’other side of 
the family. My mother’s name was Scovandyke ’’— 

«¢And yours ?’’ interrupted Durward. 

<‘Ts Joel Slocum, of Slocumville, Massachusetts, at your 
service,’ said the young man, rising up and going through a 
most wonderful bow, which he always used on great occasions. 

In a moment Durward knew who he was, and greatly amused, 
he said, «Can you tell me, Mr. Slocum, what relation this 
Lucy Temple, your great-great-aunt’s daughter, would be to 
your” 

‘¢ My third cousin, of course,’’ answered Joel. ‘‘I figgered 
that out with a slate and pencil.” 

«¢ And her son, if she had one? ” 

‘Would be my fourth cousin; no great connection, to be 
sure—but enough to brag on, if they happened to be smart !”’ 

«¢ Supposing I tell you that 1 am Lucy Temple’s son? ”’ said 
Durward, to which Joel, not the least suspicious, replied, 
‘¢ Wall, s’posin’ you du, ’twon’t make it so.”’ 

‘¢But I am, really and truly,’’ continued Durward. ‘‘ Her 
first husband was a Bellmont, and I am Durward Bellmont, 
your fourth cousin, it seems.’ 

“‘ Jehostphat / If this ain’t curis,’’ exclaimed Joel, grasping 
Durward’s hand. ‘‘ How do you du, and how is your marm. 
And do you know Helleny Rivers? ”’ 

Durward’s brow darkened as he replied in the affirmative, 
while Joel continued: ‘‘ We are from the same town, and 
used to think a sight of each other, but when I seen her in 
Kentucky, I thought she’d got to be mighty toppin’. Mebby, 
though, ‘twas only my notion.” 

Durward did not answer, and after a little his companion 
said, ‘‘I suppose you know I sometimes take pictures for a 
livin’. I’m goin’ to my office now, and if you'll come with 
me I'll take yourn for nothin’, bein’ you’re related.”’ 

Mechanically, ard because he had nothing else to do, Durs 


288 LENA RIVERS. 


ward followed the young man to his ‘‘office,”” which wes a 
dingy, cheerless apartment in the fourth story of a crazy old 
building. On the table in the centre of the room were several 
likenesses, which he carelessly examined. Coming at last toa 
larger and richer case, he opened it, but instantly it dropped 
from his hand, while an exclamation of surprise escaped his 
lips. 

i What’s the row, old feller,” askud Joel, coming forward 
and picking up the victure which Durward had recognized as 
"Lena Rivers. 

«¢ How came you by itP’’ said Durward, eagecly, and with a 
mowing wink, Joel replied, ‘*J know, and that's enough.” 

‘But Z must know, too. It is of the utmost importancs 
that I know,’ said Durward, and after a moment’s reflection, 
Joel answered: ‘‘ Wall, I don’t s’pose it’ll do any hurt if I tell 
you. When I was a boyI had a hankerin’ for ’Leny, and If 
didn’t get over it after I was grown, either, so a year or twe 
ago I thought I’d go to Kentuck and see her. Knowin’ how 
tickled she and Mrs. Nichols would be with a picter of their 
old home in the mountains, I took it for’em and started. In 
Albany I went to see a family that used to live in Slocumville. 
The woman was a gal with ’Leny’s mother, and thought a sight 
of her. Wall, in the chamber where they put me to sleep, was 
an old portrait, which looked so much like ’Leny that in the 
mornin’ I asked whose it was, and if you b’lieve me, ‘twas 
"Leny’s mother! You know she married, or thought she mar- 
ried, a southern rascal, who got her portrait taken and then run 
off, and the picter, which in its day was an expensive one, was 
scld to pay up. A few years afterward, Miss Rice, the woman 
I was tellin’ you about, came acrost it, and bought it for a fittle 
or nothin’ to remember Helleny Nichols by. ‘Thinks to me, 
mothin’ can please "Leny better than a daguerreotype of her 
mother, so I out with my apparatus and took it. But when I 
come to see that they were as nigh alike as two peas, I hated t+ 
give it up, for I thought it would be almost as good as lookir’ 
at ’Leny. SoI kept it myself, but I don’t want her to know it, 
for she’d be mad.’’ 

‘‘Did you ever take a copy of this for any one?’’ asked 
Durward, a faint light beginning to dawn upon him, 

‘What a feller to hang on,’’ answered Joel, ‘‘ but bein’ I’ve 
started, I’ll go it and tell the hull, One mornmg when I was 
in Lexington, a gentleman came in, calling himself Mr. Gra- 
kam, and saying he wanted a copy of an old taeuntain house 


LENA RIVERS. 289 


which he had seen at Mr. Livingstone’s. Whilst I was 
gettin’ it ready, he happened to come acrost this one, and 
what is the queerest of all, he like to fainted away. I 
had to throw water in his face and everything. Bimeby 
he cum to, and says he, ‘Where did you get that?’ I 
told him about it, and then, layin’ his head on the table, 
he groaned orfully, wipin’ off the thumpinest great drops 
of sweat and kissin’ the picter as if he was crazy. 

‘“““Mebby you knew Helleny Nichols?’ says I. 

““<Knew her, yes,’ says he, jumpin’ up and walkin’ the 
room as fast. 

“‘All to once he grew calm, as though nothin’ had hap- 
pened, and says he, ‘I must have that or one jest like it.’ 

“So Igave him asmaller one. He wasas tickled asa 
boy witha new top. Some months after, I came across 
him in Cincinnati. His wife was with him, and I thought 
that she looked like Aunt Nancy. He went with 
me to my office, and said he wanted another daguerro- 
type, as he’d lost the first one. Now I’m pretty good at 
figgerin’, and I’ve thought that matter over until I’ve 
come to this conclusion—ithat man—was—’Lena’s father 
—the husband or something of Helleny Nichols! But 
what ails you? Are you faintin’, too,’ he exclaimed, as 
he saw the deathlike whiteness, which had settled upon 
Durward’s face and around his mouth. 

‘““Tell me more, everything you know,” gasped Dutr- 
ward. 

‘““T have told you all I know for certain,” said Joel. 
‘““The rest is only guesswork, but it looks reasonable. 
*Leny’s father, I’ve heard was from South Car’lina’’— 

“So was Mr. Graham,” said Durward, ‘‘and he’s your 
stepfather, the husband of Lucy Temple, my cousin?”’ 

Durward nodded, and as a customer just then came in, 
he arose to go, telling Joel he would see himagain. Alone 
in his room, he sat down to think of the strange story he 
had heard. Gradually as he thought, his mind went 
back to the time when Mr. Graham first came home from 
Springfield. He was a little boy, then, five or six years 
of age, but he now remembered many _ things 
calculated to prove what he scarcely yet dared to 


290 LENA RIVERS. 


hope. He recalled Mr. Graham’s preparations to return, when 
he was taken suddenly ill. He knew that immediately after 
his recovery he had gone northward. He remembered how sad 
he had seemed after his return, neglecting to play with him as 
had been his wont, and when to this he added Joel’s story, to- 
gether with the singuiarity of his father’s conduct toward ’Lena, 
he could not fail to be convinced. 

‘¢She zs innocent, thank heaven! I see it all now. Fool 
that I was to be so hasty,’’ he exclaimed; his whole being 
seemed to undergo a sudden change as the joyous conviction 
flashed upon him. 

In his excitement he forgot his promise of again seeing Joel 
Slocum, and ere the sun-setting he was far on his road home. 
Occasionally he felt a lingering doubt, as he wondered what 
possible motive his father could have had for concealment, but 
these wore away as the distance between himself and Kentucky 
diminished. As the train paused at one of the stations, he was 
greatly surprised at seeing John Jr. among the crowd gathered 
at the depot. 

‘¢ Livingstone, Livingstone, how came you here ?” shouted 
Durward, leaning from the open window. 

The cars were already in motion, but at the risk of his life 
John Jr. bounded upon the ‘platform, and was soon seated hy 
the side of Durward. 

«You are a great one, ain’t you?’ said he. ‘Here I’ve 
been looking for you all over christendom, to tell you the news. 
You’ve got a new sister. Did you know it?” 

“’Zena/ Is it truee Js it ’Lena?” said Durward, and 
John replied by relating the particulars as far as he knew them, 
and ending by asking Durward if ‘‘he didn’t think he was 
sold /”’ 

‘‘Don’t talk,’’ answered Durward. ‘**I want to think, for I 
was never so happy in my life.’’ 

‘Nor I either,’’ returned John Jr. ‘*So if you please, you 
needn’t speak to me as I wish to think, too.” 

But John Jr. could not long keep still, he must tell his 
companion of his engagement with Nellie—and he did, fall- 
" ing asleep soon after, and leaving Durward to his own re 
flections. 


LENA RIVERS. 391 


CHAPTER XXXVIIL 
CONCLUSION. 


WE hope the reader does not expect us to describe the meet- 
ing between Durward and ’Lena, for we have not the least, or, 
at the most, only a faint idea of what took place. We only 
know that it occurred in the summerhouse at the foot of the 
garden, whither Lena had fled at the first intimation of his ar- 
rival, and that on her return to the house, after an interview 
of two whole hours, there were on her cheeks traces of tears, 
which the expression of her face said were not tears of grief. 

‘‘How do you like my daughter?’’ asked Mr. Graham, 
mischievously, at the same time laying his arm proudly about 
her neck. 

‘So well that I have asked her to become my wife, and she 
has promised to do so, provided we obtain your consent,” 
answered Durward, himself throwing an arm around the blush- 
ing girl, who tried to escape, but he would not let her, holding 
her fast until his father’s answer was given. 

Then turning to Mrs. Graham, he said, *‘ Now, mother, we 
will hear you.”’ 

Kind and affectionate as she tried to be toward ’Lena, Mrs. 
Graham had not yet fuily conquered her olden prejudice, and 
had the matter been left wholly with herself, she would, per- 
haps, have chosen for her son a bride in whose veins no plebecan 
blood was flowing ; but she well knew that her objections would 
have no weight, and she answered, that ‘‘she should not op- 
pose him.”’ 

‘‘ Then it is settled,’’ said he, ‘‘ and four weeks from to-nighv 
I shall claim ’Lena for my own.’’ 

‘No, not so soon after grandma’s death,” ’Lena said, and 
Durward replied : 

‘If grandma could speak, she would tell you not to wait !’’ 
but "Lena was decided, and the most she would promise was, 
that in the spring she would ¢hink about it! 

«¢ Six months,’ said Durward, ‘I'll never wait so long 
kt he forbore pressing her further on the subject, knowing that 
we should have her in the house with him, which would in a 
great measure relieve the tedium of waiting. 


208 LENA RIVERS 


During the autumn, his devotion to ’Lena fornishea Carrie 
with a subject for many ill-natured remarks concerning newly- 
engaged people. 

«© 1 declare,”’ said she, one evening after the departure of 
Durward, ’Lena, and Nellie, who had been spending the day at 
Maple Grove, ‘‘I’m perfectly disgusted, and if this is a speci- 
men, I hope I shall never be engaged.” 

‘« Don’t give yourself a moment’s uneasiness,’’ retorted John 
Jr., ‘‘I’ve not the least idea that such a calamity will ever be- 
fall you, and years hence my grandchildren will read on some 
gravestone, ‘Sacred to the memory of Miss Caroline Living- 
stone, aged 7o. In single blessedness she lived—and in the 
same did die!’’’ 

‘*'You think you are cunning, don’t you,’’ returned Carrie, 
more angry than she was willing to admit. 

She nad received the news of Durward’s engagement much 
better than could have been expected, and after a little she took 
40 quoting and cousining ’Lena, while John Jr. seldom let an 
Opportunity pass of hinting at the very recent date of her ad- 
mixation for Miss Graham. 

Almost every day for several weeks after Durward’s return, 
he looked for a visit from Joel Slocum, who did not make his 
appearance until some time toward the last of November. 
Then he came, claiming, and Zroveng, his relationship with 
Mrs. Graham, who was terribly annoyed, and who, it was 
rumored, zved him to leave ! 

During the winter, nothing of importance occurred, if we 
excepr the fact that a part of Mabel’s fortune, which was sup- 
posed to have been lost, was found to be good, and that John 
Jr. one day unexpectedly found himself to be the lawful heir 
of fifty thousand dollars. Upon Mrs. Livingstone this circum- 
stance produced a rather novel effect, renewing, in its original 
force, all her old affection for Mabel, who was now ‘our dear 
little Meb.’’ Many were the comparisons drawn between Mrs. 
John jr. No. 1, and Mrs. John Jr. No. 2, that was to be, the 
former being pronounced far more lady-like and accomplished 
than the latter, who, during her frequent visits at Maple Grove, 
continually startled her mother-in-law elect by her loud, ring- 
ing laugh, for Nellie was very happy. Her influence, too, over 
John Jr. became ere long, perceptible in his quiet, gentle man- 
ner, and his abstinence from the rude speeches which here- 
tofore had seemed a part of his nature. 

Mrs. Graham had proposed spending the winter in New 


LENA RIVE. 203 


Orleans, but tothis Durward objected. He wanted ’Lena all 
to himself, he said, and as she seemed perfectly satisfied to 
remain where she was, the project was given up, Mrs. 
Graham contenting herself with anticipating the splendid 
entertainment she would give at the wedding, which was te 
take place about the last of March. ‘Toward the first of 
January the preparations began, and if Carrie had never 
before felt.a pang of envy, she did now, when she saw the 
elegant ¢vousseau which Mr. Graham ordered for his daugh 
ter. But all such feelings must be concealed, and almost 
every day she rode over to Woodlawn, admiring this, going 
to ecstasies over that, and patronizingly giving her advice 
on all subjects, while all the time her heart was swelling 
with bitter disappointment. Having always felt so sure of 
securing Durward, she had invariably treated other gentle- 
men with such cool indifference that she was a favorite with 
but few, and as she considered these few her inferiors, 
she had more than once feared lest John Jr.’s prediction con- 
cerning the /etering on her tombstone should prove true! 
‘‘Anything but that,” said she, dashing away her tears, 
as she thought how ’Lena had supplanted her im the affee- 
tions of the only person she could ever love. 
“Old Marster Atherton done want to see you in the 
parlor,” said Corinda, putting her head in at the door. 
Since his unfortunate affair with Anna, the captain had 
avoided Maple Grove, but feeling lonely at Sunnyside, he 
had come over this morning tocall. Finding Mrs. Living- 
stone absent, he had asked for Carrie, who was so unusu- 
ually gracious that he wondered he had never before dis- 
covered how greatly superior toher sistershe was. Allhis 
favorite pieces were sung to nim, and then, with the patience 
of a martyr, the young lady seated herself at the backgam- 
mon board, playing game after game, until she could scarce- 
ly tell hermenfromhis On his way home the captain fell 
into a curious train of reflections, while Carrie, when asked 
by Corinda, if ‘‘ old marster was done gone,” sharply repri- 
manded the girl, telling her ‘‘it was very impolite to, call 
any body o/d, particularly one so young as Captain Atherton!” 
The next day the captain came again, and the next, and the 
next, until at last his former intimacy at Maple Grove seemed 
to be reestablished. And all this time no one had an inkling of 
the true stateof things, not even John Jr, who never dreamed 
it possible for his haughty sister to grace Syunnyside as its mize 


994 LENA RIVERS. 


tress. ‘* But stranger things than that had happened and were 
happening every day,’’ Carrie reasoned, as she sat alone in her 
room, revolving the proptiety of answering ‘‘ Yes’’ to a note 
which the captain had that morning placed in her hand at part- 
ing. She looked at herself in the mirror. Her face was very 
fair, and as yet untouched by a single mark or line." She 
thought of him, bald, wrinkled, fat and: forty-six / 

“rh never do it,’’ she exclaimed. ‘‘ Better live single all 
my days.”’ 

At this moment, the carriage of Mrs. Graham drew up, and 
from it alighted ’Lena, richly clad. The sight of her produced 
a reaction, and Carrie thought again. Captain Atherton was 
generous to a fault. He was able and willing to grant her 
slightest wish, and as his wife, she could compete with, if not 
outdo, "Lena in the splendor of her surroundings. ‘The pen 
was resumed, and Carrie wrote the words which sealed her 
destiny for life. This done, nothing could move her, and 
though her father entreated, her mother scolded, and John Jr. 
swore, it made no difference. ‘‘She was old enough to choose 
ior herself,’’ she said, ‘‘ and she had done so.”’ 

When Mrs. Livingstone became convinced that her daughter 
was in earnest, she gave up the contest, taking sides with her. 
Like Durward, Captain Atherton was in a hufry, and it was 
decided that the wedding should take place a week before the 
time appointed for that of her cousin. Determining not to be 
outdone by Mrs. Graham, Mrs. Livingstone launched forth on 
a large scale, and there commenced between the two houses a 
species of rivalry extremely amusing to a looker-on. Did Mrs. 
Graham purchase for ’Lena a costly silk, Mrs. Livingstone 
forthwith secured a piece of similiar quality, but different pat- 
tern, for Carrie. Did Mrs. Graham order forty dollars’ worth 
of confectionery, Mrs. Livirrgstone immediately increased her 
order to fifty dollars. And when it was known that Mrs. Gra- 
ham had engaged a Louisville French cook at two dollars per 
day, Mrs. Livingstone sent to Cincinnati, offering three for one ! 

Carrie had decided upon a tour to Europe, and the captain 
had given his consent, when it was reported that Durward and 
"Lena ‘were also intending to sail for Liverpool. In this dilemma 
there was no alternative save a trip to California or the Sand- 
wich Islands! The former was chosen, Captain Atherton offer- 
ing to defray Mrs. Livingstone’s expenses if she would accom- * 
pany them. ‘This plan Carrie warmly seconded, for she knew 
her mother’s presence would greatly relieve her from the society 


* 


NENA RIVERS. 295 


of her husband, which was zo¢ as agreeable to her as it ought 
to have been. But Mr. Livingstone refused to let his wife go, 
unless Anna came home and stayed with him while she was gone. 

He atcordingly wrote to Anna, inviting her and Malcolm to 
be present-at Carrie’s wedding, purposely omitting the name of 
the bridegroom ; and three days before the appointed time they 
came. "It was dark when they arrived, and as they were not 
expected that night, they entered the house before any one was 
aware of their presence. John Jr. chanced to be in the hall, 
and the momeftt he saw-Anna, he caught her in his arms, shout- 
ing so uproariously that his father and mother at once hastened 
to the spot. . 

«¢ Will you forgive me, father ?’’ Anna said, and Mr. Wcving. 
stone replied by clasping her to his bosom, while he extended 
his hand to Malcolm. 

<¢Where’s Carrie?’’ Anna said, and John Jr. replied, ‘‘In 
the parlor, with her future spouse. Shall I introduce you?”’ 

So saying, he dragged her into the parlor, where she then 
recoiled in terror as she saw Captain Atherton. 

‘¢Oh, Carrie!’’ she exclaimed. ‘It cannot be-—that I see 
you again !’’ she added, as she met her sister’s warning look. 

Another moment and they were in each other’s arms weeping 
bitterly, the one that her sister should thus throw herself away, 
and the other, because she was wretched. It was but for an 
instant, however, and then Carrie was herself again. Playfully 
presenting Anna to the captain, she said, “ Ain’t I good to 
take up with what you left !’’ 

But no one smiled at this joke—the captain, least of all, and 
as Carrie glanced from him to Malcolm, she felt that her sister 
had made a happy choice. The next day ’Lena came, over- 
joyed to meet Anna, who more than any one else, rejoiced in 
her good fortune. 

‘* You deserve it all,”’ she said, when they were alone, “‘ and 
if Carrie had one tithe of your happiness in store I should be 
satisfied.” 

But Carrie asked for no sympathy. ‘‘ It was no one’s busi- 
ness whom she married,’’ she said ; and so one pleasant night 
in the early spring, they decked her in her bridal robes, and 
then, white, cold, and feelingless as a marble statue, she laid 
her hand in Captain Atherton’s, and took upon her the vows 
which made her his forever. <A few days after the ceremony, 
(Carrie began to urge their immediate departure for California. 

‘¢ There was no need of further delay,’’ she said. ‘‘ No one 


206 LE1. . RIVERS. 


cared to see "Lena married. Weddings were stupid thisgs, 
anyway, and ‘er mother could just as well go one time as an- 
other.” 

At first Mrs. Livingstone hesitated, but when Carrie ourst 
into a passionate fit of weeping, declaring ‘‘ she’d kill herself 
if she had to stay much longer at Sunnyside and be petted by 
that old fool,’’ she consented, and one week from the day of 
the marriage they started. In Carrie’s eyes there was already 
a look of weary sadness, which said that the bitter cars were 
constantly welling up, while on her brow a shadow was resting, 
as if Sunnyside was a greater burden than she could bear. 
Alas, for a union without love! It seldom fails to end in 
misery, and thus poor Carrie found it. Her husband was 
proud of her, and, had she permitted, would have loved her 
after his fashion, but his affectionate advances were invariably 
repulsed, until at last he treated her with a cold politeness, far 
more endurable than his fawning attentions had been. She 
was welcome to go her own way, and he went his, each having 
in San Francisco their own suite of rooms, and setting up, as it 
were, a separate establishment. In this way they got on quite 
comfortably for a few weeks, at the end of which time Carrie 
took it into her capricious head to return to Maple Grove. She 
would never go back to Sunnyside, she said. And without a 
word of opposition the captain paid his bills, and started for 
Kentucky, where he left his wife at Maple Grove, she giving as 
a reason that ‘*ma could not spare her yet.’’ 

Far different from this were the future prospects of Durward 
and ‘Lena, who with perfect love in their hearts were married, 
a week after the departure of Captain Atherton for California. 
Very proudly Durward looked down upon her as he placed the | 
first husband’s kiss on her brow, and in the soft brown eyes, 
brimming with tears, which she raised to his face, there was a 
world of tenderness, telling that theirs was a union of hearts as 
well as hands. 

The next night a small party assembled at the house of Mr. 
Douglass, in Frankfort, where Nellie was transformed into Nel!- 
lie Livingstone. Perhaps it was the remembrance of the young 
girl to whom his vows had once before been plighted, that made 
John Jr. appear for a time as if he were ina dream. But the . 
moment they rallied him upon the strangeness of his manner, 
xe brightened up, saying that he was trying to get used te 
thinking that Nellie was really his. It had been decided that 
ae should accompany Durward and ’Lena to Eurepe, and a 





LENA” RIVERS. 297 
day or two after his marriage he asked Mr, Everett to go too. 
Anna's eyes fairly danced with joy, as she awaited Malcolm’s 
reply. But much as he would like to go, he could not afford 
it, ana so he frankly said, kissing away the big tear which rolled 
down Anna’s cheek. 

(a With a smile John Jr. placed a sealed package in his sister’s 
band, saying to Malcolm, ‘‘I have anticipated this and pro- 
vided for it. I suppose you are aware that Mabel willed me all 
her property, which contrary to our expectations, has proveu to 
be considerable. I know I do not deserve a cent of it, but as 
she had no nearer relative than Mr. Douglass, I have concluded 
to use it for the comfort of his daughter and for the good of 

7 others. I want you and Anna to join us, and I’ve given her 
such a sum as will bear your expenses, and leave you more than 
you can earn dickering at law for three or four years. So, puss,’’ 
turning to Anna, ‘it’s all settled. Now hurrah for the sunny 
skies of France and Italy. I’ve talked with father about it, and 

‘he’s willing to stay alone for the sake of having you go. Oh, 
din’t thank me,’’ he continued, as he saw them about to speak. 
‘It’s poor little Meb to whom you are indebted. She loved 
Anna, and would willingly have her money used for this pur- 

*"pose.”” 

After a little reflection Malcolm concluded to accept John’s 
ffer, and a happier parry never stepped on board a steamer 
than that which, on the 15th of April, sailed for Europe, which 
tliey reached in safety, being at the last accounts in Paris, where 
they were enjoying themselves immensely. 
oa A few words more, and our story is told. Just as Mr. Liv- 
iiigstone was getting tolerably well suited with his bachelor life, 

«he was one morning surprised by the return of his wife and 

aughter, the latter of whom, as we have before stated, took up 
her abode at Maple Grove. Almost every day the old captain 

_ rides over to see her, but he generally carries back a longer face 

«eel than he brings. The bald spot on his head is growing larger, 

* and to her dismay Carrie has discovered a ‘‘ crow track ’’ in the 

«wm corner of her eye. Frequently, after a war of words with her 
mother, she announces her intention of returning to Sunnyside, 

Se but a sight of the captain is sufficient to banish all such 

ew» thoughts. And thus she lives, that most wretched of all 

Ss beings, an unloving and unloved wife. 

During the absence of their children, Mr. and Mrs. Graham 

* remain at Woodlawn, which, as it is the property of Durward, 
will be his owa and ’Lena’s home. 


398 LENA RIVERS. 


Jerry Langley has changed his occupation of driver for that 
of a brakeman on the railroad between Canandaigua and Niagara 
Falls. 

In conclusion we will say of our old friend, Uncle Timothy, 
that he joined ‘‘the A/zzdews’’ as proposed, was 1 ominated _ 
for constable, and, sure of success, bought an old gig for the » 
better transportation of himself over the town. But alas for 
human hopes—if founded upon politics—the whole Americar © 
ticket was defeated at Laurel Hill, since which time he hag ™» 
gone over to the Republicans, to whom he has sworn eterna) * 
allegiance. ; 





LADY MARGARET 





BY FRANCES HENSHAW BADEN 


LADY MARGARET 


Jupce Vernon had been childless for years, 
when little Margaret came to him. It wasa great dis- 
appointment to both parents that the little stranger 
was not a boy, but loved her none the less. Indeed, 
they made an idol of their beautiful child. The title 
of “Lady Margaret’’ had been given her by the nurse 
ere the little one was fully a month old. 

Her constant companion was the gardener’s little 
son Joseph. He was such a spirited, handsome, be- 
witching boy, that no wonder the cry oft arose to 
Judge Vernon’s lips: 

“Why could not such a son have been given me?”’ 

Joseph Grey was five years old when Lady Mar- 
garet’s tiny fingers clasped tightly his. Her very 
first smile was given to him. Joseph it was who 
guided her footsteps in the first attempts to walk, en- 
couraged and coaxed her lisping words, and almost 
went wild with nse: when the pretty ruby lips 
spoke plainly, “Josie.” 

When the little lady was seven years old a govern - 
ess was obtained for her. Every morning, seated 
beside her in the school-room, Josie was found. It 
was my little lady’s will to have him there, and both 
parents and teacher were well pleased to have it so. 
So the years rolled on until Lady Margaret reached | 
her twelfth year. 

Mrs. Vernon’s health, never robust, had been 


4 Lady Margaret 


steadily declining since her daughter’s birth. Heg 
physician insisted that she should try the influence 
of another and milder clime. ‘ 

Judge Vernon, resigning his law duties, and leaving 
the homestead in charge of Josie’s father, carried his 
wife and daughter to the south of France. Every 
fortnight brought letters from Judge Vernon, and for 
the first two years they always gladdened Josie’s 
heart with messages from the little lady to her play- 
mate. The third year the poor boy was often disap- 
pointed. Lady Margaret seldom then sent even a 
word of remembrance. At length that stopped. 
All mention of her name with regard to Joseph ceased 
entirely. 

Mrs. Vernon’s health was not improved as they 
had hoped, by the change. Indeed, she grew so much 
weaker they dared not attempt the homeward jour- 
ney. And so they lingered abroad for five years. 
Then Margaret and her father came. Three months 
previous they had placed the loved form in the grave- 
yard of Toulouse. Tenderly Mrs. Grey soothed the 
motherless girl. She, too, poor woman, had had her 
sorrow. Josie’s father had passed from earth during 
their absence. 

Gently raising the bowed head, she said: 

‘““Here is your old playmate waiting to welcome 
you home, Lady Margaret.” 

Fondly and proudly the mother’s eyes rested on her 
son as he came forward, his handsome face beaming 
with the joy her coming had brought him. 

“Thank God for your safe return home, my little 
lady.” Ah, the loved title burst forth, although he 
had theught te say “Miss Vernon.” 


Lady Margaret Ss 


“for she is a young lady now, and you must never 
forget that, my boy. She must be called Miss Ver- 
non,” Josie’s mother had said, only a few hours be- 
fore. 

And when the beautiful, stately maiden raised her 
eyes there was a startled expression in them that the 
poor youth scarce understood. 

“Thank you, I am glad to be home again,” she said, 
in answer to his glad greeting, placing her hand in his. 

“As if we had parted only a few days or hours be- 
fore,’ Joseph said, in an agony of disappointment. 

“Such a greeting, after all these years of weary 
waiting. Oh, my little lady, I would have given 
years of life to have heard those sweet lips say ‘ Josie.’ 
But my little lady is Miss Vernon now. And I, let 
me not forget — I am only the gardener’s son.” 

At the same hour, in her own room, Margaret was 
thinking of that meeting, and said: 

“Yes, I might have been more kind. He, too, has 
had his sorrow. And not even when the news of his 
father’s death reached us, did I send one word of sym- 
pathy to him. Ah, that we were still children to- 
gether! What is home without mother and Josie? 
The one gone; the other to be put aside. Yes, yes, 
better commence the bitter task at once.’’ 

The day after Judge Vernon’s return, Joseph Grey 
requested his presence in the library, where he placed 
for his inspection a book neatly and accurately kept, of 
the expenditures and receipts during the judge’s ab- 
sence. 

“Why, my boy, this is excellently well done, but 
you have taken a great deal of unnecessary trouble. 
T explained to your good father, that I wanted him te 


6 Lady Margaret 


make the place clear expenses during my absence. 
But I suppose his illness, and— Well, my boy, we 
have both had our sorrow. I scarcely feel like at- 
tending to business. ,You can tell me how we stand; 
what indebtedness?”’ 

“Qn the contrary, sir,’’ Joseph interposed, “you'll 
see here that I have placed to your account five thou- 
sand dollars,”” handing a bank book. 

“Impossible! Why, my boy—” Here the judge 
stopped, took off his glasses, wiped them, and looking 
intently at Joseph, he said: 

“You are no longer a boy. How old are you, Jo- 
seph?”’ 

“My own man, sir,” Joseph answered, amilingly, 
adding, “twenty-one, six months ago.” : 

Again arose the cry in Judge Vernon’s heart, “Oh 
why could not such a son have been given me?” 

“Joseph, that sum | shall immediately transfer to 
your credit. It is justly yours,’ Judge Vernon said, 
handing back the books. 3 

“No, sir, I cannot permit that.’’ How handsome 
he looked; and though his manner was deeply re- 
spectful, there was a flush that mantled the noble 
brow, a light in his eye that Judge Vernon understood, 
and thought: “How proud he is! Oh, that there 
were more like him — George Mason, for instance. 
Then I could give my Margaret to him, feeling confi- 
dent of her happiness.” 

“Well, Joseph, you have plans for the future; of 
course you cannot stay here. Regret as | shall to 
sose you, | would send you forth, I feel sure, to a path 
of honor and distinction. Can I help ~ou?”’ Judge 
Vernon said, with much feelir«. 





Lady Margaret 9 


joseph caught his hand, and pressing 1. warmly, 
answered: 

“Thank you, dear sir, both for your offer and good 
— nay, flattering opinion. You can help me; I heard 
you say you should resume your legal duties. [ 
should like to read law with you.” 

“With pleasure, my boy. Then we shall not be 
separated yeta while. Isee plainly how much knowl- 
edge you have gained during my absence. You have 
studied hard — you must have.”’ 

“T have studied much, sir. But ’twas not hard, I 
love it so.” 

The conversation was interrupted by a gentle knock 
on the door, and immediately Margaret came in, say- 
ing: 

‘Please, papa, go see Mr. Mason. He is in the 
drawing-room. I do not feel like receiving calls to- 
day. Excuse me, please.” 

“Well, well, today Iwill, But you must be po- 
lite to him, my love. I cannot forget how attentive 
he was to us across the water. His father was my 
dearest friend.” 

Joseph’s heart gave a bound of joy. She would 
surely linger a few moments — speak, perchance, of 
the old times, and call him again Josie. — 

He raised his eyes, full of glad expectation. They 
met hers, and with a pleasant smile and “‘Good-morn- 
ing,’’ she passed from the room. 


* 2 2 x % * 
“Indeed, my little lady, I must learn to call you 


differently. I can scarcely believe my own eyes, you 
have grown so tall and womanly. But five years 


8 Lady Margaret 


bring great changes. Look at Josie!’? There was 
pride in the mother’s voice and eyes. 

“Yes — you may well be proud of Josie, nurse. [f 
suppose he is a great favorite with the village girls?” 
Margaret said. 

if the mother had read Margaret’s eyes aright, she 
would have seen more interest there than she would 
imagine, from the cold, steady voice. 

“Ah, yes, indeed. And there is more than one, 
whose eyes would brighten at his coming. But he 
only cares for his books, my lady. Every spare hour 
he is in the library.” 

The anxious look gave way, and Margaret’s beau- 
tiful eyes were full of peace, as she turned to meet 
Joseph. 

“The first flowers and fruit of the season, Miss Ver- 
non,’’ he said, holding towards her a bouquet of roszs 
and violets, and placing on the table a basket of straw- 
berries, 

How smiling and happy he looked! She knew he 
must have heard her last words to his mother. Her 
face was hid among the flowers, to hide the crimson 
tide. 

“How beautiful! Thank you,’ she said. Placing 
the flowers in a vase, she turned away. 

“She might have put them in her own room,” 
sighed Joseph. ‘But I will not grieve for this. She 
is not altogether indifferent to me. She called me 
Josie. She cannot have forgotten — no, she remem- 
bers — that she is Miss Vernon, and the difference, 
nay, the distance, between us.”’ 

Indeed, after that day the distance seemed to widen. 
Mrs. Grey, who, during the absence of the family, 





Lady Margarei 9 


hac. sccupied apartments in Vernon Mansion, a few 
days after their return went back to the gardener’s 
cottage. 

A few weeks after this, Joseph Grey was in the li- 
brary at Judge Vernon’s request, copying a legal docu- 
ment, when the door opened, and Margaret and her 
father entered. 

“Can you give your father a few moments, my 
daughter? Since your young friends have been here, 
I hardly get a look at you, or have you a moment all 
to myself.” 

“Oh, you dearest of fathers, do not be jealous? Do 
you not know that you will have me all alone to your- 
self as long as you live?’’ Margaret said, clasping her 
arms about his neck and pressing her lips to his. 

‘No, no, love! No, little lady. I want to talk to 
you about just this very thing. I havea letter from 
George Mason. You must read it, and give me his 
answer.” 

More rapidly went Joseph’s pen. Louder the 
scratching on the paper. He could not get out with- 
out passing them. He h®ped they would hear him. 
He was revolving in his mind what to do, when Mar- 
garet said: 

“T shall never marry, father.’ 

“Nay, nay, love. You distress me. I should not 
be content to seek your mother, leaving you alone 
here. You do not dislike Mason, my dear?”’ 

“Oh, no. But I do not like him well enough te 
marry him, papa.” 

“‘Let me give him hope! for my sake, dear! There 
is no one that I could give you to that I like so well. 
Ah, if it were not—- 


tu Lady Margaret 


An exclamation of pain, almost simultaneously 
with which Margaret, in a low, warning voice, said: 
“Father!’’ and Joseph Grey came forward. 

“What is it, Joseph? You are ill, surely.” 

“No, dear sir. A sudden and sharp pain which I 
hope will not be continual,’ Joseph answered. 

“Ah, I know you have been working too hard. 
There, go home and rest, my boy.” 

As Joseph passed Lady Margaret he raised his eyes 
to hers. She could not have mistaken the wild, ap- 
pealing look; yet, turning away, she said: ! 

“T will try to make you happy, father.” 

That evening Joseph Grey announced to Judge Ver- 
non his intention of leaving home the next day. 

“‘So sudden this is, my boy,” surprised and pained, 
the judge said. 

“No, sir. I’ve been intending for several weeks to 
teli you; but I dreaded so much this separation I have 
delayed speaking of it until the latest moment,’’ Jo- 
seph answered, with much feeling. 

There was a long conversation, and the judge con- 
cluded by saying: 

“T will say good-by tonight. I may not be up in 
the morning. Write to me, dear boy. And call on 
meifIcanhelp you. Feel as if you were applying to 
your father, Joseph; and now God bless you!”’ 

Early the next morning a wild cry arose in the Ver- 
non mansion. Judge Vernon’s spirit had fled. 


* 2 * * x * 
The hour for Joseph’s departure came. He had 


watched an opportunity when finding Margaret alone 
tO say good-by. 





Lady Margaret ¥I 


Paler than the pale girl before him, he approached 
her. 

“Miss Vernon, I am going. I have come to say 
good-by.”’ 

She did not speak. She had been prepared for it. 
She arose and held out her hand. 

“Good-by, Miss Vernon.” 

He stood before her, holding her hand tightly be- 
tween his own. She raised her eyes, to meet a world 
of love in his. Quickly her own drooped, and seeking 
to release her hand, she said: 

“ Good-by.”’ 

“And this is all. You will send me forth without a 
word, a kind wish! Oh, my little lady, say ‘Tl not 
forget you, Josie!’ Oh, turn not away, Lady Mar- 
garet! Speaktome! For never loved man as | love 
you! my lady! my queen!”’ Joseph cried, still tightly 
holding her hand. 

Ah, she raised not her eyes as she spoke the cruel 
words. 

“You forget! The women of our race have never 
blushed for the object of their love. They never 
unite their fate except with those of whom not only 
they, but their country, were proud. Go! May you 
be prosperous and happy. Farewell!”’ 

She disengaged her hand, and turned away. 

The door closed after him. A moment more ane 
she hid her face amid the cushions of the sofa, and 
with a moan of agony, cried: 

“Alone! Alone! All gone now!”’ 

“My little lady!” 

She sprang up to see Joseph bending over her. 

““Why are you here?’”’ she asked, reproachfutly. 


12 Lady Margaret 


“Why? ‘To pledge my heart, my life to you? To 
tell you, my proud lady, that I will win you! Heaven 
will reward such love as mine. lask no word of hope 
now. But I shall work and pray, and you may know 
that I am waiting for you to bid me ‘come.’ ”’ 

‘“‘Go! oh, go!’’ she cried, beseechingly. 

He turned, hesitated, and sprang forward to catch 
her to his heart—to hold her there an instant only, 
press his lips to her brow, and cry: 

‘“‘God bless and keep you, my love, my life!’’ and 
passed from her sight. 

If Joseph confided his love to his mother, she gave 
no intimation whatever of it to Margaret. 

Immediately after her son’s departure, Mrs. Grey 
became again an inmate of Margaret’s home. Then. 
as a guest and esteemed friend, Margaret never again 
addressed her by the old title of “nurse.’’ Very soon 
the servants caught their mistress’s mood, and, ere 
long, it seemed that the household, even Mrs. Grey 
herself, forgot that she had ever been other than the 
dear friend and guest of the Vernon family. 

Margaret seldom went into society. Still her beauty 
attracted many admirers. Suitors she had, one after 
another, meeting the same fate. Perhaps it was 
harder for her to put aside, her father’s choice or, 
perhaps, he was more determined than the others. 
At any rate, George Mason continued his visits. Jo- 
seph, in his far western home, knew of this, but his 
faith never grew less. 

From letters to his mother, Margaret only knew of 
his good health and good spirits. Thus the months 
grew into years. Then from the political journals 
she learned of Joseph’s rapidly growing popularity. 


Lady Margaret 13 


Of his aavance to one and another position o: greater 
importance. 

Five years past ——oh, such long, weary years to 
the waiting hearts at home. In answer to the oft- 
tepeated cry, ‘My boy, come to me!”’ he would write: 

“Not yet can ITcome! Would to heaven I might!’ 

Margaret alone understood this. 

“Oh, why will he not come? Iam almost dying to 
see my boy!’’ his mother said. Margaret’s heart 
echoed this cry, yet she would not send that one little 
word. 

George Mason, at length, despairing of winning 
Margaret, had transferred his affections to her dearest 
friend, a beautiful little blonde, whose loving nature 
soon comforted him for any disappointment he might 
have suffered. 

Eagerly Margaret watched the papers to know of 
Joseph’s upward career. She knew that he was to 
represent his adopted state at the national capital. 
There she would go with his mother, and amid the 
throng meet him. This she had determined. The 
prospect of seeing her boy was joy too great for the 
anxious mother. As the time drew near, her excite- 
ment grew intense; and the day which was to have car- 
ried them to Washington brought to Joseph the long- 
looked-for word from Lady Margaret: 

“Come,” she wrote, “your mother is ill. We can- 
not come to you.”’ 

Ah, did ever so few words bring so much of joy and 
sorrow combined? 

Weary with long watching in the sick-room, Mar- 
garet stole out to wait for Joseph’s coming. 

“Tf in his eyes I find the same old look, the love ef 


14 Lady Margaret 


years shali find its own. Oh, my love shall have 4 
joyful greeting,’’ she said. 

Watching, waiting, eager, she pressed her hand 
over her heart to still its wild beating. 

“Oh, why does he not come? What can detain 
him?’’ 

Wearily she sank back, her heart filled with fears. 

Presently a murmur of hushed voices, slow, cau- 
tious steps; and the dreadful words — “dying or 
dead,’’ reached herear. Then she heard of a frightful 
collision, and when the door opened, she sprang up 
with a cry of agony: 

“Oh, my love! my love! you must not die!’’ 

“Die? Why, you have been dreaming, my dar- 
ling! No, dear love, I have just now begun to live,” 
Joseph said, holding her closer to his heart, as he read 
in her eyes all the love for which he had waited and 
worked. 

When Joseph had spent an hour, cheering and mak- 
ing well his mother, he coaxed Margaret away, to 
whisper in her ear: 

“My lady, do you know, you have not said to me 
even one little word of love, save those from a terrible 
dream? Oh, my love is a proud little lady still,” he 
said, playfully raising her face, more beautiful than 
ever, now flushed with joy. He was more than satis- 
fied, when she placed her hand in his, and said: 

“Yes, 1am prouder now than ever in life before; and 
my greatest pride shall always be to be worthy of your 
love, Josie.” 


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Victor’s Triumph 


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Fair Play 

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Noble Lord, A 


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Deserted Wife, The 


26 
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